


Demons Among The Stars

by DarkAbyss



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, M/M, Minor Violence, Post-Series, Post-TNG, Pre-Nemesis, Q Civil War, Q Continuum, Qcard Big Bang, Relationship Study, Some Made-up Q Lore, qcbb2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-09-29 17:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 45,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20440088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAbyss/pseuds/DarkAbyss
Summary: [Set some time after the end of Star Trek: the Next Generation, before Nemesis. Written for the QCard Big Band 2019]During the conflict in the Continuum, Q takes refuge in Jean-Luc’s mind in the form of odd nightmares, leaving the Captain, who's clueless about what's going on with the entity's people, grasping strays to solve the mystery of his own dreams.[29/02/2020: officially fully revised and corrected]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the QCard Big Bang 2019, organised by [**q-card**](https://q-card.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!
> 
> This is actually my first time writing in this fandom, even if I’ve been a Trekkie since I was a kid. I was very excited about this event and I hope I managed to make the characters justice!  
  
This work was supposed to be a single once shot, but it got far longer than I had originally planned for it, so I decided to divide it in parts to make it more easy to read!  
Mandatory side note: I haven’t seen all ST -Voy, but I’ve done the necessary research to write the parts that somewhat involved that series. However, I reserved for myself some poetic licence when it comes to the timeline and the descriptions of the Continuum war.
> 
> My partner for the challenge was [**iscalox**](https://iscalox.tumblr.com) and [**here**](https://iscalox.tumblr.com/post/187466839909/my-art-for-qcard-bigbang-2019-the-fic-is-demons) you can find the lovely art the created for this story! Please, check out their Tumblr blog for more works by them. They have a great, unique style!
> 
> I hope you will enjoy it! Comments and questions are more than welcome and definitely encouraged!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _06/12/2019: Chapter 1 reviewed and corrected!_

Space is theoretically endless. A boundless expanse of untouchable darkness, a black sea studded with the ever-changing colours of the stars. It’s cold out there, the absence of any sort of warmth and gravity making it inhabitable for _almost_ any form of life. Everything withers and freezes and dies once it’s embraced by that impalpable blackness, if it’s stripped of any sort of suitable protection. 

All that considered, it was _obvious _that what he was currently experiencing _had _to be a dream, a fruit of his unconscious mind, the resulting image of the endless threads of his subconscious, weaved together. Mankind and science had taken a lot of steps forwards, made plenty of discoveries, explained phenomena that before had seemed like thick, unsolvable mysteries. However, for some reason, there were still plenty of undiscovered layers wrapped around certain functions of the nervous system, and dreams were one of them. There were plenty of theories, so many guesses had been made, but the concrete truth still felt out of reach, just as a vision that faded as soon as awareness started to fully come back. 

In any case, even if he had no idea of where it had come from or why he was seeing this particular scenario, there were few doubts that he was stuck in a dream. He was floating in what had to be open space, without a spacesuit, without a ship. It was hard to describe because it was like nothing he had experienced before. There was no atmosphere, no air, nothing on his skin. Just…void. Nothingness. And yet there was no unbearable pressure, no deadly cold, even if his body was shivering, instinctively expecting both. The way they kept failing to come felt incredibly _wrong_, but it was hardly the only thing that was out of place. The stars, which were by now as familiar as the landscapes of his hometown, didn’t look right. It was as if he had been seeing everything at the same time through his own eyes and from a point of view that wasn’t his usual one. 

He tried to shake his head, but he wasn’t sure that he had managed. Everything felt so confused, so _unreal_. It made his brain spin, _hurt _even. And that was the only thing that felt concrete. The pain. Deep, insisting, penetrating. It was hard to grasp where it was coming from. It was totalising, it seemed to originate at the same time from the void of space itself and from inside him. He was extremely aware of it and yet it was almost as if some sort of barrier was standing between him and the icy feeling, shielding him from the real extent of what, even at distance, tasted like soaring _agony_. 

Then, all of a sudden, everything came crashing down. The darkness twisted around itself, the light of the stars became brighter, so blinding that it seemed to obliterate every sense. All around him reality appeared to be literally falling into pieces, like a glass exploding into a thousand splinters, and behind it, behind the scattered fragments… 

Jean-Luc shot up in a seated position, a hand clenching the front of his sleeping wear. His lips were pressed together tightly, teeth gritted, and yet his throat was drier than ever and it hurt, as if he had just spent the last few hours screaming. His pulse was racing and he was hyper aware of every little thing around him. The way the slightly damp sheets felt against his skin. The taste of the recycled air. The way the mattress curved under his weight. The buzzing of the Enterprise all around him. And yet, his sight was still blurred, eyes chasing the remains of a dream he couldn’t remember. 

Slowly, he eased his fingers out of the creased cloth and brought them to his face, letting them skim over his skin, as to make sure that it was _really _his own, before rubbing his eyes. He had no idea of what he had dreamt of, but it had been terrifying and horribly real, more real than any vivid nightmare should be. But what else could it be, if not the lingering effects of a night terror? His reason told him that looking for another explanation for it wasn’t logical, but his instinct _loudly _disagreed, as foolish as it might seem. And during his long and complicated carrier in Starfleet he had learnt to trust his guts. 

The Captain let his hand fall down and threw the sheets off, giving himself one more moment to steady both his mind and his body before standing up. The alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but the computer told him that it was near the time for him to get up anyway. Lingering in bed with those restless feelings crawling under his skin wouldn’t have led him anywhere. Better not to waste time and get ready. Perhaps the sensation would have faded on its own. If not, he could have always checked the ship’s records and seen if the sensors had picked up any unusual activity during the night cycle. He wasn’t expecting to find anything out of the ordinary, but it might have helped putting his mind at peace. 

Picard almost rolled his eyes at his own thoughts. He was sounding paranoid even to himself and he decided that, if he wanted to do those check-ups, he had better do them quickly and before he left his lodgings. No need to concern his crew, especially if he hadn’t found anything that could indicate that his experience, no matter how shaking, had been nothing but a dream. For now, though, a shower seemed good enough to calm his nerves. 

The floor under his bare feet seemed to ground him a bit more, but the unsettling knot in his stomach, while loosened, still remained, showing no intentions of wanting to leave any time soon. 

*********

Deanna Troi’s eyes were something _unique_, at least from a human point of view, and they betrayed her hybrid origins easily to any attentive observer. They were far more penetrating than any Terran woman’s eyes should have been. Her gaze seemed to be able to dig past any layer, physical and metaphorical, and reach your soul, uncovering whatever thought or secret you were so _vainly_ trying to hide. Hadn’t they always been so kind, so _soft_ on the edges, even when the look in them was openly stern, those dark orbs would have managed to perturb the most ruthless beings. 

Picard crossed his legs, stubbornly staring ahead from him, towards the main screen of the bridge, trying his best to ignore the weight of that discreet, inquisitive gaze. The Counsellor hadn’t got her eyes off him since she had sat down next at his left, at the start of the Alpha shift. He had thought to have collected himself enough before leaving his quarters, especially after he had had the confirmation that nothing out of the ordinary had happened while he was sleeping, but apparently his mask wasn’t thick enough. She _knew_, Jean-Luc was certain of it, and what disturbed him the most was the feeling that, somehow, she had already grasped more than he had. 

At one point, she had tried to reach out for him, to subtly suggest that they should go in his Ready Room and _talk_, because she obviously thought that he needed to, but he had evaded her implicit invitations, pretending not to have noticed them. It wasn’t the smartest move, considering that his refusal would have just got her more concerned about whatever was troubling him, but thankfully Deanna also knew very well when to push and, especially, when _not_ to do it. She would have left him alone, at least for the moment, but she would have also been prepared to step in, with more determination, if whatever emotion he was giving off had persisted. 

Biting back a sigh, the Captain forced his attention to leave those thoughts and to focus back on the stars running past them on the screen. Hopefully, they would have never come to the point when Troi would have cornered him and forced him to talk, not that time. The sensations left behind by the _nightmare_, because that was what it had to be, would have faded. They always did, no matter how shaken one’s mind could be, no matter how _strong_ they still were, even now, after hours in which his daily life and duties had offered plenty of distractions. 

By his right, Riker was saying something, most likely telling some sort of anecdote taken from a previous mission he had had. His Number One tended to get a bit chattier when they were between missions and, while Jean-Luc didn’t mind, not after so many years working together, that day he couldn’t really focus on what the younger man was saying. The blackness in front of them kept giving him a sense of _déjà-vu_, feeding the lingering feelings he was supposed to be suppressing and forgetting about. 

“Captain?” Will’s voice cut through his restless thoughts, the mention of his rank managing to catch his attention. “Are you alright, sir? Have I said something I shouldn’t have?” 

Picard shot Deanna a brief glance before turning to face his First Officer. He caught the younger man eyeing her in turn, looking for answers, but he pretended not to have noticed. The Bridge was hardly the place to start a discussion and they all knew it. 

“No, Number One. I was just thinking about the pile of reports that will be waiting for me at the end of this shift,” he replied, slightly shaking his head. It was a lie, but only to an extent, since those reports existed and he wasn’t looking forward to them at all. “The Admiralty wants to know every single detail about those talks on Araibain II we attended and apparently our previous résumés weren’t detailed enough for them.” 

Riker didn’t openly scoff, but his expression was so clear that he could have as well done it. “We wrote down almost every single word spoken at the Congress!” He pointed out, a hint of incredulity touching his voice. “We even sent recordings back to Starfleet. What else do they want you to gather for them? Should have we taped the whole thing?” 

“They are more interested in what happened behind the scenes, out of the Congress’s room, I’m afraid,” the Captain replied, even if his lips twitched up slightly at the vehemence the younger officer had showed. “I’m not sure about what kind of interests are truly behind that conference, and, if I can be honest, I don’t wish to get too involved, but this is how politics works. And that planet might become a very _strategic_ outpost for the Federation.” 

He stood up, deciding that the turn the conversation was the chance to the tactical retreat he had been pondering for a while. “Perhaps I should use this time to get started on them,” he added, nodding at his First Officer, who had raised with him. “The sooner it will be done, the sooner the Enterprise will be allowed to fully move onto our next mission. I’ll be in my Ready Room. You have the bridge, Number One.” 

The firm “yessir” from Riker followed him as he made his way out of the room and into the next, the automatic door sliding closed behind his back. He was sure that, had he been able to see through the metal walls, he would have caught Will’s and Deanna’s heads bowed one towards the other, whispering quietly to each other. Usually when the half-Betazoid got concerned, his First Officer tended to share her worries. Besides, Picard hadn’t been very subtle with his distraction, despite all his attempts to hide it. 

“Get it together, Jean-Luc,” he muttered under his breath as he took a seat and moved to access the computer terminal. “You’ve lived through much worse than a bloody _dream_ you can’t remember.” 

There was nothing truer and he was terribly aware of it, just as he realised how out of character from his part allowing a mere vision to interfere with him so much was. And yet, somehow, he couldn’t just shake everything off as he wished he could. The tendrils of the nightmare seemed to have laced on his deepest fears and most painful memories, trying to pull them out from where he had carefully stashed them away. 

He drummed his fingers on the desk, out of habit, but also trying to get rid of the flare of restlessness his reflections had brought to him. Saying that the whole affair was _frustrating_ didn’t even start to cover it. It made him long for another, this time proper night of sleep, of those quiet hours that would have allowed his brain to regroup or at least to put away everything that had spilled out of his subconscious during the previous night cycle. 

His eyes fell on the expectant, open file before him. Unfortunately, he still had several hours to go, before he would have been allowed to retire in his quarters. Better not to waste them with wistful thinking and mental cursing. After all, even if they hardly were the reason behind his odd mood, he hadn’t lied when he had stated that he wanted to get rid of those reports as soon as possible. 

*********

Against all Picard’s hopes, the night didn’t bring him any clarity or peace of mind. On the contrary, when the curtains of unconsciousness eventually opened, they ruthlessly delivered him straight in the thick, confusing arms of another nightmare. The void of what he thought had to be open space was still there, surrounding him without truly touching his flesh, but once again his mind was unable to retain any true visual details of what he had seen and experienced while wrapped in the clutches of sleep. 

What remained seared in his memories, instead, were the emotions, stronger than they had been the day before, and less confused. A _coldness_ that had nothing to do with the physical one of open space, that froze the bones, reaching too deep for comfort. Utter, paralysing _fear_, the kind of terror that filled you with the urge to run for your life and never stop. _Pain_, plain and simple and destructive agony, so strong that it was hard to tell if it was physical or mental, but without a doubt deadly. And with it a profound sense of _loss_, not just the mourning that tore you up from the inside when you lost someone very close and very dear, but the physical sensation that, together with that person, you had lost a literal part of yourself too. And finally _desperation,_ the endless conflict between the need to keep going, to keep fighting, and the temptation to just let yourself fall on the ground and be destroyed, a struggle between survival instinct and bone-deep exhaustion. 

The intensity of the feelings left him once again gasping for air, as if, after all, he had been trapped in open space for real, with no oxygen to fill his lungs. And yet, for how clear and intense the emotions were, they also felt somehow _alien_, as if the same invisible barrier, which kept him apart for the physical sensations he experienced during the dreams, was standing between him and those feelings, making him live them only by proxy. Not unlike the echoes of the screams he felt in his throat but had never let out. 

“Dreams. Nightmares,” he finally confided to Troi, after his mind had thrown him in the same loop of flashes and emotions for the _eighth_ night in a row. His temper had got shorter and shorter, because no matter how many hours he spent unconscious, it was like not sleeping at all, and the Counsellor had noticed. She had come to him, her gentle suggestions getting more and more _insistent_, until he had let her in, despite his lingering reluctance. He might not like showing weakness, but he wanted to think that he was mature enough to know where his limits were and when it was time to ask for help. 

“I have no idea of where they come from, but in a way, I…I’m starting to think that they aren’t _mine_.” His voice hadn’t been as steady and sure as he would have wished, when he had spoken those words. “The things I feel, the things I see…It’s like I’m there but at the same time I’m not. It’s almost as if someone had _poured_ their memories inside my head and hasn’t cared to give them some semblance of order or clarity.” 

He had started to retain some visual details too after the fourth night of nightmares, even if he couldn’t place them. The images were too _absurd_ to be real and yet too complex and accurate to be just the fruit of his mind. Black holes in the middle of the void, vast and terrifying and perfectly visible at the naked eye even if reason told him that they should not be. They seemed at the same time to emerge from the black of space and to sink into it, as thicker, more concrete shadows against a background of pitch-black darkness. Bundles of black light that somehow grew brighter and brighter, until it changed colour. The thick blackness turned into blinding whiteness, so intense that, had it been real, it would have burnt the eyes into his skull. 

The mere memory gave him a headache, and not just because it broke every single law of the physics he knew. He had watched, frozen in his spot, as those boundless masses of nothingness exploded into the most powerful _supernovas_ he had ever witnessed. Fire curling in every direction, filling and eating up the void, drawing gorgeous patterns and arabesques, perhaps _too_ precise to be completely natural. There should have been no sound, and yet he could hear _voices_, speaking, stumbling, screaming, carrying that same, terrifying mixture of emotions that burdened him after every nightmare. And, absurdly, the sight of those explosions, as beautiful and astonishing as it was, brought him not wonder and a bit of reverent fear, as he would have expected, but a sense of _dreadful_ agony, the same kind of devastating sufferance that he had felt every time he had been forced to watch a friend or a dear colleague getting _slaughtered_. 

“And I also know that I’m not alone. There’s someone there with me, someone _familiar_.” That latter detail was pretty new. He had noticed it just the night before, but he somehow was sure that the mysterious presence had been there the other times too. He had simply been too wrapped up in the other overwhelming sensations to notice it. “I can’t tell where they are. Next to me, behind me, all around me or even inside my head, but I’m sure that I know them.” 

“And this presence, what kind of feelings makes you experience? Are you _afraid_ of them? Do they feel _dangerous_ to you?” Deanna asked in a calm, warm tone. “Or perhaps are they somehow seeking _assistance_?” 

Her dark eyes were wide open and attentive, her forehead slightly creased with worry. The idea that this could be some sort of telepathic attack on her Captain had crossed her mind, but she had felt nothing out of place when Picard had let her touch his mind. No trace of violation, no marks left behind by an intruder. And yet she had no other theories to explain what it could be if not a connection of minds, especially not after the man had told her that the visions felt like they belonged to someone else. Since she couldn’t locate or sense this mysterious presence, they should have at least tried to assess if it was _hostile_ or not. 

“As I told you, one of the feelings I experience is fear, but it has nothing to do with them. Or at least it’s not inspired by them. They have never done anything to cause me harm, aside from bringing the visions themselves. Always assuming that it’s their work in the first place.” He shook his hand. “No, I wouldn’t say that they pose a danger to me during the dreams, but I have no idea of what their intentions are. We don’t communicate, I haven’t seen them yet either. They are…just _there_, like everything else.” 

Jean-Luc brought his hands to his face and rubbed his skin slightly. His headache is getting _worse_ and, if he hadn’t been afraid that those nightmares could end up compromising his ability to command the Enterprise, he would have already told the Counsellor that they should have continued another time. However, it was already getting harder and harder to stay focused for prolonged periods of times and Beverly had noticed that he was looking a bit off, physically too, which meant that it was only a matter of time before the Doctor ordered him to Sickbay to run a full physical on him. He wouldn’t have said it out aloud, but he _dreaded_ the results that might have come out of it. 

“Counsellor,” he resumed after a moment of silence, abandoning those thoughts and focusing back on the matter at hand. “Considering the facts at hand, I believe that each dream is bringing me more and more information about whatever this is all about. Given it the right amount of time, I’m sure we’ll gain the necessary elements to build the reasonable hypothesis for an explanation. What I wonder if there are ways to…speed up the process. Because I’m not sure we can afford to give…this experience the time to develop at its own rhythm.” 

Forcing the hand of whoever was behind his night visions was perhaps a _hazard_, but it was also the only way in which he could have got some answers before his mind and body started to suffer too much for the lack of decent rest, for the weight of those alien emotions burdening him. Before he became fully _vulnerable_ in the hands of whoever kept slipping inside his unconscious thoughts. 

“That wouldn’t be wise, Captain,” Deanna protested, but her heart wasn’t completely in it. She knew that the Captain had to agree with her on that, but she was also aware that the obvious risks weren’t a reason good enough for him to drop his request. Not in their current circumstances. “We don’t know who is behind this and especially we don’t know what they might want. I’ve been unable to pick up any sort of trace of this presence in your mind, and I fear that I wouldn’t be able to do much, if they were to somehow trap you.” 

Jean-Luc held her gaze steadily, perhaps with more calm than the one he was actually capable of feeling in his current state of mind. “I’m aware of the risks, Counsellor. And I’m ready to take all the necessary precautions you will suggest. However, as I mentioned before, I’d rather keep this between us for the moment. I don’t wish to alarm the rest of the senior crew for something that might be unimportant.” 

The woman bit her tongue not to state that, in her eyes, anything that could bother their Captain to that extent was important enough to be discussed with the other senior officers, and licked her lips, considering her options. They could have started a long discussion, which might have ended in a stalemate anyway, with her being unable to change her commanding officer’s mind and Picard still standing his ground, but with no means to achieve his goal. Or they could have found a _compromise_, something that was safe enough to allow them to dig without pushing it past the point of no return. 

“There are some Betazoid techniques that can allow you to have lucid dreams, to manipulate them, to stay in control of yourself as you move through them,” she eventually gave in, crossing her arms over her chest. “If these visions are created by somebody else, you won’t have any control on the environment around you, but you should be able to control yourself and interact with the vision, instead of being just a motionless spectator. _However_,” her tone thickened as she went on and her expression turned sterner, “you’ll have to be careful. If you allow yourself to go too deep, you might get lost. These dreams…The intensity of the emotions you gain from them might make them seem indistinguishable from reality while you’re living them.” 

Picard nodded, even if his fingers twitched from where they were resting on the smooth surface of his desk. He knew that she was right. His first-hand experience with telepaths and telepathy in general was limited, but during his career in Starfleet he had had his share of encounters and clashes with them. Some fascinating, some _extremely_ harmful, others just plain _confusing_. He didn’t count his experience with the Borg, because that had been unique under too many points of view and it wasn’t something he wished to dwell on. It wouldn’t have been helpful in his current situation anyway. Thankfully, the dreams, as overwhelming as they were, allowed him to keep his individual mind and persona. 

“I won’t push too deep,” he agreed, silently forcing himself to make a vow about it too. It would have been of no use if he had found the source of the nightmares and then got trapped in one of them. He folded his hands in front of him. “Now, these techniques. I hope that they aren’t too different from those tricks you taught me to fight my periods of insomnia. Because those have been quite hard to learn.” 

Troi’s lips twitched upwards at the attempt of lightening the mood. “Thankfully you’re a _quick_ study, Captain,” she commented, her tone carrying a spark of amusement. “It’s proof that stubbornness can truly be a _virtue_, after all. At least in the right hands.”

******* **

Incense seemed to have the unique property to make, at the same time, the atmosphere of any room heavier and your head lighter. It seemed to impregnate every molecule of air, absorbing the thoughts in the process and leaving the mind less full and slower. According to Deanna, Betazoids had spent a long time, during their history, selecting aromas and herbs, looking for the perfect mixture for every kind of meditation and relaxation techniques.

The scent that was permeating Jean-Luc’s lodgings for the third night in a row vaguely reminded him of a mixture of lavender and mint, with a spicy note on the side. The freshness it carried made an odd contrast with the general warmth of his rooms, and yet it felt _comforting_, as a light breeze on a nice summer day. It was a smell that reached out for the memories of vast fields, vines and wild flowers, and he couldn’t help wondering if that was what the Counsellor had been aiming for. During their long talk of three days before she had mentioned how important it would have been for him to use the images and the sensations of events he had actually experienced to control the dreams. The more connected to a semblance of the real world he would have felt, the easier navigating the visions would have become. With _moderation_, of course, considering all the risks that came with making the whole experience _too_ real.

The first two attempts hadn’t brought many results. Little had changed the first time, aside from the fact that, somehow, the void of space had felt slightly more _concrete_ than it had before, while the second try had found him reaching out for something through the blinding light of the exploding supernovas, but he had woken up before he could reach it. Third time was the charm, or so they said, so he was really hoping to get a better result. Till now the only, real bright side of that strategy had been that, apparently, the deeper sleep allowed his mind to rest a bit more, despite the intrusive force of whoever was manipulating his subconscious and that had made him feel slightly better. It was a solution that wouldn’t have worked on the long term, though, so the only operative option they had was still figuring out who was behind it all.

Biting back a heavy sigh, Picard finished his tea, taking a moment to dispose of the cup, and then settled down on the mattress, drawing the sheets up halfway to his chest. He was feeling quite _restless_, more on the edge than he had been in the previous days, for a reason he couldn’t pinpoint, and he couldn’t tell if he was supposed to take it as a good sign or a bad one. It was a sensation not unlike the hint of a tight knot that settled in his stomach before every particularly dangerous or important mission, the kind of mission whose result was impossible to predict. It might have meant that something was _finally_ about to happen, or it could have just been his nerves threatening to snap if it would have been the umpteenth failure.

“Computer, light off,” he commanded, almost rolling his eyes at himself. It had been years since the last time he had been so hyperaware of his inner conflicts. He had learnt, or at least so he had thought, to put the right amount of detachment between them and his conscious thinking, to ignore them for the sake of being able to handle situations in the best way possible. And yet, that night he _almost_ felt like he had used to feel back when he was freshly out of the Academy, staring in the face of the unknown for the first time.

This time when a sigh pressed against his lips, he let it out, shifting to get more comfortable on the mattress. Enough overthinking. None of those thoughts would have got him anywhere useful. He was just wasting precious time. Morning wouldn’t have come later just because he couldn’t wrap his mind around his own inner turmoils. Time might have not been a universal constant as humans had used to believe in the past, but it was still something mostly out of their control.

His eyelids slid closed and, after a few minutes of twitching, he managed to lace his focus on the alien and yet familiar scent of the incense, slowing down his breathing as Troi had showed him. It was incredible how effective such _simple_ gestures could be and, before he could realise it, he was already sinking into unconsciousness, limbs becoming steadily heavier and heavier and the first tendrils of a dream wrapping around his mind.

For the briefest moment, before he was completely lost to reality, something flashed before his eyes, a light piercing through his eyelids, not bright enough to shake him awake, but somehow still too strong to be the mere product of his numbing brain. He was tempted to reach out for it, but his arm refused to cooperate and, before he could think of another solution, darkness swallowed him completely.

*********

The usual, peculiar version of open space welcomed him, with its detached icy coldness, its pulsing black holes and screaming mess of emotions. Picard tried to move, but it was hard to say if he was succeeding or not, when he already had problems telling one direction from another, in a place that seemed made only of endless depth. The presence was there, so close that it felt like he was brushing against it, and yet he couldn’t have said where the sensation was coming from, just as he could hardly tell anything about everything else.

He sucked in a deep breath, or at least he did his best to picture himself doing it, since he wasn’t even sure that his dream self could or needed to breathe in that particular part of the vision. He had to stay calm and focused. If he had allowed himself to get too caught up in his confusion and in the usual waves of disturbing feelings that were already starting to wash over him, he would have _never_ made it to whatever was waiting for him past the blinding explosions that would soon come. Luckily for him, if such thing could be called “lucky”, he had started to get used to the strangeness of the scenario, as much as it was humanly possible. Knowing that it wasn’t real and that it wasn’t entirely a product of his head, while at first had unsettled him, now helped.

And this time, when the raging spirals of blackness started to change colour, darkness quickly turning into a growing glow, the cold of space heating up against any logic or physical law, he was _ready_ to face it. The explosions started from the supernova that was the furthest away from him, temporarily stealing his focus with its beautiful and terrifying wreaths of white fire, but he quickly snapped out of his fascination as the blasts started to approach the spot where he was floating. The air around him was fast to heat up, a detail that he hadn’t noticed during the previous dreams, and, before it could become scorching to the point of _hurting_, he was completely wrapped in a burst of light.

The air he hadn’t been breathing was suddenly kicked out of his chest and for one, terrible moment he had the _certainty_ that he would have suffocated. His lungs were starting to _burn_ for the lack of oxygen and he feared that perhaps he had pushed _too deep_, without even realising it. His eyes widened in shock, or at least he felt like they had, and he started to thrash, even though he might have not been moving at all. All around him there was nothing but that perfectly white glow and never such a pure light had looked so _frightening_. In that moment, it became incredibly _easy_ to understand why in some cultures that was the colour associated with _death_.

Then, just as abruptly as he had been pushed into that trap made of light, he was yanked out of it by an invisible hand. All of a sudden there was fresh air from him to breath and he found himself settled on something _solid_, panting even harder than the other times, his mind still stuck in a roller coaster, too shocked to put into focus his surroundings, even if he carefully assumed that he had to have woken up.

It took his artificial heart what felt like several minutes to stop hammering loudly in his ears, allowing him the chance to clear his rushing thoughts. The heaving of his chest gradually slowed down in turn, and his hands relaxed around whatever they had clung onto in their spasming frenzy. It was only then that he realised that what his fingers had been grasping weren’t his sheets, as he would have expected. No, the feeling was completely familiar and it was one that he knew. _Wood_.

Jean-Luc’s eyes shot open, surprise overwhelming him when he found himself looking at a scenario that was completely different from the insides of his lodgings. Right in front of him stood the edge of a forest, majestic, ancient evergreens reaching out towards the bluest sky he had ever seen. Deep as the void of the space he was shoved in at the start of each dream, but emanating _calm_ where the blackness tended to convey _fear_. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight and the light of the sun lit up the whole landscape, filtering between the branches of the trees, even if the aster was out of sight. A small clearing extending between him and the forest, verdant tall grass studded with blooming flowers, their white and deep purple colours interrupting that ocean of greenness as the stars did with the night sky.

Slowly, not really trusting his legs, the Captain stood up from the wooden rocking chair he had found himself in. A brief glance at it and he realised that he had seen it before. It was the identical, almost down to every detail, to the ones his brother had in the backyard of their family house, back in France. Perhaps what Deanna had meant when she had stated that those meditation techniques would have allowed him to control the vision at least in part, she hadn’t just been talking about the fact that he would have been able to interact with it, but also that his mind would have unconsciously created _familiar_ elements to ground him.

He brushed his fingers over the edge of the chair, deciding that it was a good explanation for its presence, and then turned back towards the field, following the dirt path that cut through it, from where it emerged from the depths of the forest to the steps that led to the door of the building set behind his back. A small wooden mountain cabinet, he could assess, once he had taken a couple of steps towards the trees, to be able to have a better look at it. The construction was just as picturesque as the rest of the scenery, with the carved windowsills, the reddish roof and the cascades of flowers falling from the windows of the first floor. It could have come straight out of one of those old postcards that had been so popular a few centuries in the past and Jean-Luc couldn’t help wondering if, perhaps, that was actually where that particular detail of the vision came from.

He reached out and ran a hand on his head, scratching lightly the skin of his scalp. Now that he had mostly recovered from the abrupt change of scenery, he would have expected his body to _relax_ in such a familiar environment. If he had to place what he was seeing, he would have said, hadn’t he been so sure that he was still dreaming, that he had somehow ended up on Earth, somewhere on the Alps, judging from the architectural style. And yet, he still felt on the edge, as he had been in open space and, even before, back in his room. No matter how peaceful and idyllic the landscape could look, there was something _dangerous_ hidden behind the smell of pines and humid ground. And perhaps it was also the same something that could have given him some answers.

After a few moments of pondering, Picard made up his mind and decided to have a look around. He would have walked around the cabin first, leaving the explorations of the insides to a later moment. Throwing himself in a closed space before having the chance to fully inspect his surroundings, in an environment that was potentially not safe, was a _risky_ move. His dark eyes touched the quiet forest once more. Hopefully he wouldn’t have found himself forced to wander inside it. He had the strong feeling that he would have easily got _lost_ if he had tried.

With just one more split second of hesitation, he headed for the left side of the cabin, carefully stopping to glance at what was waiting for him behind the corner before turning it. There was nothing but trees and grass on the side too, with a pile of firewood and a bench set under the closest window. Nothing suspicious in sight and the ground didn’t cave under his feet as he made his way towards the backyard. However, he didn’t miss how the tension _grew_ in his shoulders with each step he took in that direction. Whatever was causing the alarms to go off in his mind had to be there and he regretted not being able to materialise a phaser or any other kind of weapon. He might have not used it in any case, but it would have made him feel a bit _steadier_.

His steps faltered right before he could turn the corner, but he didn’t allow the hesitation to slow him down and he marched past the shield provided by the cabin’s wall, ready to confront whatever was waiting for him. Despite his best intentions, though, he still came to an abrupt full stop when his eyes finally laced on the sight that was disclosed before his eyes, more out of _surprise_, even if perhaps, deep down, he should have _really_ expected it, than actual alarm.

The backyard was not so different from the front of the building, with the exception that there was no dirt path interrupting the clearing there, but just a small patch of cut grass around the porch that occupied the whole façade of the ground floor of the cabin. This time, however, what caught Jean-Luc’s attention wasn’t the exquisite, even if stereotyped, traditional architecture, but the figure leaning with his forearms against the railing, back slightly bent forward and gaze fixed on the trees. The being wasn’t wearing one of the extravagant robes he had used in their past encounters nor the fake Starfleet uniform he seemed to have become a fan of, but Picard would have recognised those never changing features, dark eyes and messy curls everywhere. How couldn’t he have, when their mere sight gave him a very _unique_ kind of migraine?

“_Q_!” He exclaimed, his surprise quickly turning into incredulity and, especially, _anger_. He should have known. It had been almost a year since he had last seen the entity, long enough to expect another of his unplanned visits, and that kind of odd pranks, for lack of a better word, were exactly in his style. He started to walk towards the steps that led on the porch, almost without realising it. “Of course it had to be_ you_!”

Q took a moment too long to react to his voice, to the point that the Captain almost thought that the other hadn’t heard him. However, before he could call out again, the entity abruptly straightened even if he still didn’t turn to face him, and his brows knitted together, forehead creasing in an almost _puzzled_ look. It was as if he hadn’t been expecting to receive visits, but that was _impossible_, was it? After all, for whatever other reason Q would have created that little world in his head, if not to mess, _literally_, with Picard’s mind? 

The Captain stopped again, just a step past the threshold of the porch. Now that he could properly see him, he couldn’t help noticing how sober, in his _anachronistic_ oddness, the entity’s current outfit was, especially compared to his usual standards. He seemed to have stepped out of some old war movie, with those black combat trousers and combat boots, dark gray tank top and fingerless gloves. He even had a strip of black cloth tied around his head, like some sort of off-colour Rambo. The only elements that broke the costume, aside from the colour scheme, were the silver embroidery that decorated the strip, drawing the same symbols that stood out against the black band tied around his left arm, and the odd badge stuck on his chest, in the same position where a Starfleet officer would be wearing their combadge. It was hard to tell from the available angle, but it seemed to resemble a very elaborated, upside down Q.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Jean-Luc insisted when no verbal answer to his words came. His already thin patience was wearing out and fast, lack of proper rest making him even less inclined to put up with the other’s usual shenanigans. He couldn’t deny that, the last time they had seen each other, Q had actually _helped_ him, despite the fact that it might have put him in trouble with the Continuum, but that didn’t mean that he was ready to allow him to behave as he pleased. Especially _not_ when the entity’s actions were risking compromising both him and his command. “I thought you were done playing games with us.”

“Oh,_ mon capitaine_! We haven’t seen each other in…how long has it been?” Q finally replayed, theatrically rolling his eyes, but once again he kept his gaze fixed in front of him, refusing to face the Captain. His voice carried the usual, condescending tone, but there was a _strained_ note in it, almost as if he had to put a conscious effort to drag out the words. “Ages, for sure! Do you really have to be so _cranky_?”

“I wouldn’t be this “cranky” if you let me sleep, Q. And it’s barely been one year,” Picard corrected him, hands fisting at his sides. There was something _off_ with the entity, and not just because of how _oddly_ he was behaving. Looking at him strengthened the bad feeling that had blossomed inside his chest in the same moment when he had realised that he had fallen into another section of the dream. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that the being in front of him was the source of that bad omen, which had later spread all around. The meaning of it, however, was impossible to guess. Considering whom he was dealing with, it could have been everything and nothing. Hard to tell which option was worse. “It can’t be much, for someone like you. Stop being dramatic and tell me…”

“One year?” Q cut in before he could finish his question. He had ignored the previous ones and he seemed to have all the intentions of disregarding the ones that would have come next. “_Odd_. I would have sworn that it had been a century. But that’s impossible. You wouldn’t be alive.” He scoffed, but the sound came out devoid of any sort of accent or emotion. “Time works differently in the Continuum. When it exists at all. Coming back to this _limited_ world can get a bit confusing, after a while spent away from it.” He waved a hand. “But you couldn’t understand. Your too _primitive_ mind would break if I tried to explain. It’s not even worth the trouble.”

For a long moment, Jean-Luc was caught off guard once again. On one hand, the way the entity spoke, the nonchalance in his gestures, his chosen words were _familiar_, painted with that typical mixture of superiority and condescendence the other never failed to show. On the other, however, everything felt out of place, _forced_, as if he had been watching a badly staged play. Q’s expression was too _muted_, his tone too _flat_, his body too _still_ and _stiff_. The feeling that things would have soon gone downhill was growing stronger and stronger in his guts and the agitation it brought with it just fed the man’s irritation. Even now that he had finally found out who was responsible for his odd dreams, he still had no idea of what was going on. If possible, he was even more confused than before. And, of course, as per usual, Q was refusing to hand over the answers he owed. 

“Enough of this. If you’re here just to insult me and play games, then cease this…whatever it is that you’re doing,” he insisted, in the sternest tone he could manage, while a new wave of restlessness invaded him. It was the same kind of agitation that filled him in his room, but it was stronger this time, an open _warning_. And yet, despite all the signs, he refused to believe that Q could have actually represented a _danger_ for him. Not because he thought that the entity wasn’t capable of being. Oh, he was _painfully_ aware of how powerful the being standing before him was, he knew far too well that he could have destroyed him and every single member of his crew with a snap of fingers, and that he could have made their deaths pure, endless _agony_. He could have done all that, and worse, but he had never chosen to. 

The Captain bit the inside of his cheek lightly. There was the mystery, among many others. Q could have wiped out humanity, made sure it failed the trials it had been put through, but instead he had, in his extravagant, alien way, always tried to _help_ them, for some obscure reason. It seemed that, in spite of all his harsh, judging word, he had taken a _liking_ in humans, or at least in some of the members of his crew, Jean-Luc in the first place, which had led him to choose to take their race’s side. His methods were never the easiest, never pleasant, but they were incredibly _effective_, even if Picard wouldn’t have admitted it, not even under torture. The other had already an ego too big enough and he didn’t wish to feed it, if he could avoid it. 

“You have no right to be in my dreams, just as you have no right to stand on my bridge,” he finished, taking one step towards the entity, against every caution. “Get off my ship and, especially, get out of my head.” 

That was usually the point when Q started to whine and put up his fake hurt act, and then usually spilled out the reason behind his presence, throwing in a bit of unnecessary theatrics. It was annoying, but, as much as he hated to admit it, Picard had got used to that routine of theirs, so he found himself caught unprepared when none of it came in answer to his words.

Once again Q remained quiet for a second too long and then his shoulders started to shake, at first imperceptibly and then more and more visibly, till his head fell backwards, a hand pressed against his mouth. He was _laughing_, hard and with little restrain, muffled sounds escaping through his fingers. And yet, once again, the whole scene felt _off_. As first thing, there was the fact that Jean-Luc had _never_ actually seen the entity laugh, not for real. Snickering, maybe, for a short time, or bursting out in _obviously_ fake, brief fit of laughter to mock them. He had seen him _amused_, never without a hint of _malice_, and he had seen him shining with cheerfulness and heartfelt delight that one time he had been reinstated as part of the Continuum after having temporary made human. The kind of body language he was witnessing now, aside from being unusual, was also completely _wrong_. There was no trace of amusement, not actual cheer in Q’s expression or gestures. On the contrary, everything looked and felt hollow to the point that it was _scaring_. 

The Captain opened his mouth, not really knowing what he wanted to say. On one hand, he just wanted to yell at the being to stop it and go away, to leave him alone, while on the other he wanted to demand what the _bloody hell_ was going on, why the other was acting so…out of character. He wasn’t given the chance to make up his mind, though, because that was when Q _finally_ turned to face him and Picard’s attention was instantly captured by those dark eyes, open far too _widely_, pupils so blown that the usual deep brown of that gaze looked a shade _darker_ than it should have been, awfully similar to the blackness of the void he found himself trapped in at the start of his dreams. 

“You want me to get out, Jean-Luc?” The entity asked, his usually deep voice sounding high-pitched, an oddly fitting addition to his _manic_ expression. “And where else should I go? There’s no place left. Can’t you hear the _screams_? Can’t you see that everything is _burning_?” 

Silence followed those words for the time of a heartbeat and then, without warning, the scene around them changed drastically. Picard almost started as the light of the sky suddenly disappeared, replaced by a smoky dim darkness. His eyes instantly flew upwards, meeting clouds and trails of dark smoke where before the calm, beautiful blue had been. The whole forest was on _fire_, the flames quickly devouring the ancient trees, leaving behind nothing but black, precarious skeletons in their place. The grass of the clearing had been replaced by burnt ground or turned yellow and rotten. The cottage was in ruins too, half collapsed on itself, the few still standing walls infested and stained. And the _screams_. He could hear them and kept catching with the corner of his eyes flashes of humanoid figures, wrapped in the flames, yelling incomprehensible words, that vanished every time he tried to properly look at them. 

The Captain brought a hand up to cover his mouth and nose, coughing in the air that suddenly became too hot and too filled with smoke to be breathable. The place that could have been easily described as a small angle of paradise had been turned into a raging _hell_, much to his horror and confusion. He couldn’t understand what was happening, he couldn’t even start to grasp why Q was showing him all this. What was the message? The aim? The game? The lesson? The entity had put him through several trying trials in the past, but nothing had ever been so openly _horrifying_. If the other hadn’t been standing there with him, he would have _never_ believed that this was his doing. It just didn’t fit, it wasn’t his style. 

“Q, what…” He started to say, voice rough for the smoke, but he ended up choking on his own words and on the new too hot gulp of air he swallowed as he abruptly turned around to face the entity, eyes widening in renewed shock. 

Their setting hadn’t been the only thing to change. Q’s appearance had shifted too, conforming to the hell of flame they were currently trapped in. He was still wearing the same clothes, but they were all torn, edges burnt, the band around his head crooked. He was missing one glove, the now exposed skin of his hand was covered in black stains, just as his tank top was. It could have been dirt, or anything else, and yet Jean-Luc found that he had no doubts on the fact that it was _blood_, despite the odd colour. His eyes were still far too wide, and his skin had taken an unhealthy shade, bordering _grey_. However, what truly caught the man’s attention was the nasty burn that covered the left side of his face, torn flesh oozing something that should have been blood, but that instead seemed to be made of the same blinding white glow of the supernovas the black holes of his nightmares turned into. 

For a few, intense moments, all he could do was staring, in both awe and horror, his mind still in shock because of the sudden, unannounced shift in the atmosphere of the dream, and unable to wrap itself around the fact that Q was literally bleeding _starlight_. 

Then the entity took a step toward him, stretching an arm in his direction, stained hand reaching out for him, and something inside Picard _snapped_. Survival instinct, or perhaps just fear born from how overwhelming it all was, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that his body clumsily moved backwards, trying to flee from the advancing form, wanting nothing more than leaving that damned dreamscape. His feet got caught in something, perhaps parts of the cottage ruins, and, before he could realise it, he found himself on the ground, panting for air he couldn’t get and covered in sweat, hands frantically looking for something he could hold onto but finding nothing. 

He opened his mouth to yell to the entity to stay away, but his tongue refused to cooperate, and more smoke entered his mouth, sending him into a new, harsher coughing fit. His vision blurred as tears filled his eyes for the growing heat and, when he managed to clear his eyes enough to see, he found that he was almost in Q’s arm’s reach. Just one more step and… 

A loud, cracking noise exploded above their heads and the Captain hardly had the time to look up to see the porch collapsing above them, before everything sank into darkness.

*********

As he snapped awake in his bed, sheets soaked in sweat, Jean-Luc was _almost_ sure that he yelled for real this time. The second half of the nightmare had been even more realistic that he one he had lived through over and over in the past nights. He could still smell the burning woods and taste the ashes on his tongue. And, especially, he could still see Q’s wrenched figure before his eyes, without even needing to close them.

He hid his face in his hands for a moment, stroking his temples in the attempt to calm his thoughts. Everything had happened too fast for him to elaborate it and now, in the aftermath, he was left with even more questions and little understanding of what he had just gone through.

He shook his head, forcing himself to abandon those thoughts. He wouldn’t have got anything out of them in his current state of mind. “Computer, what time is it?” He asked instead, reaching out to disentangle his legs from the mess he had made of the sheets. To anyone who saw the state of his bed, it would have been clear that he had had one hell of a night.

“It’s 0600,” the artificial voice readily replied, informing him that he still had two hours before the start of Alpha Shift. Plenty of time to clear his head and reorder his ideas, possibly to find his lost focus too. He would have also had to psychologically prepare for the long talk with Troi that most likely waited ahead of him, a conversation that, at the same time, he dreaded and looked forward to. On one side, the idea of having to relive the dream, to analyse it and break it down into the smallest details didn’t appeal him at all, but on the other he was hoping that Deanna would have been able, with her external prospect, to see something he couldn’t, anything that might have helped him understand what was going on.

With a resigned sigh, he pushed himself off the mattress. First things first, he needed to make himself presentable again, which meant literally washing off the physical effects of nightmare from his skin. As old-fashioned as it might have sounded, showering was still one of the best ways to calm one’s nerves in his opinion, just as he found slipping in a clean uniform incredibly _grounding_. As he made his way towards the bathroom, he could almost hear Q’s voice in the back of his mind, mocking about how those gestures were nothing but a _pitiful_ semblance of control, one of the many _delusions_ humans liked clinging to when they couldn’t stand how _powerless_ they were, but he quickly shut it up, directing his focus on his morning routine. Anything else could have waited until he was done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _07/12/2019: Part 2 reviewed and corrected._

“That is _not_ the kind of development I had anticipated,” Deanna confessed, crossing her legs and resting her intertwined fingers on top of her knee. Her tone was carefully neutral, but the light crease on her forehead betrayed her confusion. “Captain, are you _absolutely_ sure that the one you encountered was the real Q? And not just another facet of the vision?”

Jean-Luc let out a sigh, but then nodded. He could understand her perplexity. He had had a few doubts in the hours that had followed his awakening, but eventually he had shaken them off. As unusual as Q’s attitude had been, he had kept perceiving the same presence that had permeated all his previous dream and his mind had made a connection the moment when he had seen the entity, realising why it had felt so _familiar_. Considering how peculiar that particular presence was, he should have really guessed whom it belonged to since the start.

“Yes, Counsellor, I am quite sure. He might have not acted like he usually does, but it _was_ him. We are already sure that there’s another presence that had been making contact with me. There are no reasons to assume that this entity would go through the trouble to disguise themselves as someone else, let alone _him_. Moreover, why I would ever dream about _Q_, of all people, under any circumstances?” He caught a glimpse of the amused smile that Troi was trying to hide. He raised waved a hand. “On second thought, don’t answer that one.”

The woman showed him his palms in a gesture of surrender, even if her lips were still twitching. Picard decided not to mention it. After the exhausting night he had had and all the unanswered questions it had left behind, a bit of lightness was _more_ than welcome. Besides, he would have lied if he stated that he didn’t see where her amusement was coming from. While the entity was a real-life _nightmare_ to deal, Jean-Luc had come to admit that he was much better than other hostile species and individuals he had encountered during his career and personal life. Such fact, however, didn’t make Q less incapable of exasperating him as no one else could. That alone was a reason good enough to explain why his unconscious mind could find itself preoccupied by the other, even when they weren’t dealing with him.

“In any case, as I was saying, I’m sure it’s him,” he resumed, rubbing his forehead. “What I don’t understand is the _purpose_ of all this. Q has always had a motive behind his _absurd_ trials and games. He likes to toy with us, I don’t deny it, and he not always explains his actions in ways that are fully understandable. But you’ve seen him, Counsellor. He loves boasting and rubbing in our faces how _inferior_ we are compared to him. And the only times he hasn’t come to offer some sort of help or teach one of his “lesson” has been when the Continuum sent him on official business.”

Truth be told, the last time he had seen the entity, during the time of humanity’s last trial, he had actually stuck his neck on the line for them, even knowing what kind of cost he might have paid for his actions. It was _hard_ to understand how Q’s mind worked, and Picard wasn’t even sure that he wanted to understand it, but it seemed that, throughout all their past encounters, the willingness to be of some assistance to them had overcome all the other convoluted reasons that had pushed such a powerful being to stick around.

“This time, it’s _different_. I…I can hardly see the meaning of it. Assuming that there is one in the first place.” He leant against his chair, crossing his arms on his chest. “Even considering the possibility that this might be some sort of _prank_…it doesn’t feel like one. That time with Vash,” he rolled his eyes at the memory of how _ridiculous_ they had all looked in those costumes, “_that_ was some sort of well-staged prank. This…This is _serious_.”

He went quiet for a moment, fingers drumming on the cloth of his uniform. Those dark, empty eyes had haunted him all day, more than anything else. They might have not been the most traumatic part of the nightmare, but they had been what had given him the chills the most.

“You haven’t seen the way he looked, Deanna,” he mumbled in the end, in a quiet tone. “Something was off with him. And that concerns me, because of the consequences that it might have on this ship and the crew, if he decides to involve us all in…whatever is going on.”

“Then perhaps we should consider that this might be an unusual way to ask for help. After all, the two times he got in trouble with the Continuum he came to us,” the woman pointed out, her tone turning sympathetic. She could understand her Captain’s inner turmoil. There was just so little they could speculate on and they were dealing with someone whose mentality wasn’t even close to the ones they were familiar with. Also, aside from all the confusion and the frustration, the man had a whole starship he had to worry about. “It wouldn’t be _unreasonable_ to assume that he’s doing something similar, in a different fashion.”

Picard scoffed, shaking his head. “Yes, I remember. _Of course_ I do. How could I forget? The first time he sent us straight into the Borgs’ clutches and got eighteen of our crewmen killed, and the next he drew to the ship those incorporeal beings, putting is all at risk.”

“He eventually chose to sacrifice himself to keep the ship out of harm’s way,” Deanna pointed out candidly. “And the Borgs were already invading our borders. If he hadn’t showed us what was to come, we would have had far less chances to fight them back successfully. Even if this doesn’t condone his methods. You’re as well aware of this as I am, if not more.”

Jean-Luc shot her a long look. “Whose side are you exactly, Counsellor?”

Troi’s lips twitched again. “I’m not taking _sides_, Captain. My job consists in offering an external, _alternative_ point of view to help you elaborating the problems you are dealing with. And right now I just thought that putting some objective facts on the table might be of use.” Her fingers found their way in her ebony hair and she hooked a lock behind her ear. “What I’m saying here is…Give him the benefit of the doubt for now. You told me that you don’t feel threatened or endangered, despite the nature of the dreams. And, since we have no idea of what the issue with him might be…perhaps he needs time to offer an explanation. He said he comes in your mind because he has no other place to go, didn’t he? Then perhaps that’s his _only_ way to communicate with you.”

The Captain remained silent for a long moment. Deanna had a point, but that was hardly news. One of the several reasons why she was such an important asset for his crew was exactly because she was able to see alternative patterns and explanations where no one else could. Not to mention that she always managed to be calm when approaching extremely sensitive, _personal_ situations. How having to constantly absorb everyone’s tensions and doubts didn’t drive her crazy was a mystery to him. Perhaps, in part, it was due to her Betazoid heritage, but Picard was more inclined to think that for the most it was due to her as an individual. It was in moments like that one, no matter how big or small, that he realised that he truly had the _best_ officers under his command. Not that he had ever doubted it, once he had got to know them.

“Alright, Counsellor. I do see your point. And I’ll keep your advice in mind,” he conceded with a sigh, not without a hint of reluctance. Not because he didn’t agree with the woman’s reasoning, but because he didn’t like its implications. It brought them no closer to gain control of the situation. On the contrary, it forced them to accept, at least in part, the fact that they weren’t the ones pulling the reins. “However, my top priority remains making sure that none of this will bring harm to this ship and its personnel, not even by mistake. And the only way I can achieve such thing is by finding out what Q’s true intentions are.”

Deanna nodded, her expression sobering up slightly. “I agree that it should remain our top priority. However, I advise you against pushing too hard in that direction. Considering Q’s reaction to that very same line of questioning in last night’s dream, it might turn out to be counterproductive. Not to mention that we all know how…_touchy_ he can be.”

“That’s a _considerable_ understatement,” Jean-Luc commented, finding himself shaking his head for the umpteenth time. Now that he knew who was behind the vision, though, he didn’t really see the need for so much caution. The entity always refused to do what he was told at first, but it always came a time, during their metaphorical arm-wrestling, when Q finally started to listen and cooperate in his own way. There was no reason to think that this time it would be any different.

*********

In hindsight, Picard found himself wishing he had listened a bit more to Troi, since it quickly turned out that the woman had been right when she had stated that a too aggressive approach might have worked against him. Three nights followed his talk with the Counsellor. Three nights occupied by nightmares not unlike the one where he had firstly found himself face to face with the entity. Three more nights and no step forward towards finding a solution or even just a better understanding of what he was dealing with.

The place he found himself in after being swallowed by the explosion of one of those odd supernovas changed with every dream, but the dynamics were always the same. He woke up somewhere _peaceful_, familiar or unknown, with no sign of danger in sight, even if his instinct instantly put him on the edge. Every time he had no choice if not wandering around, exploring his surroundings, until he ran into Q. And, once he did, the almost same script repeated himself. Jean-Luc tried to ask his questions, the entity deflected them at first and then, if he insisted, reality shifted, turning into the ruined, hellish version of the previous one till it collapsed upon him, forcing him to endure a brusque awakening.

The Captain took a long sip of his tea, pacing around his Ready Room. Thankfully he had always had the habit to spend a good part of his shifts in there, when his presence wasn’t requested on the bridge, to take care of reports and deal with any ship issue that might have required his attention, because otherwise, by now, his officers would have started to wonder why he was so eager to retire in solitude whenever he had a chance to. However, he was well aware that the excuse of needing to occupy his time with forms and documents from the Admiralty wouldn’t have worked forever, and he had already started to notice the looks that Will shot him every time he left him in charge before taking his leave. On her part, Deanna was doing a good job to look perfectly calm and not concerned about his behaviour and he would have to thank her for that, because her attitude definitely helped soothing any raising doubt. Not even that, though, would have been effective on the long term. If he didn’t want to involve the rest of his senior crew in his current problem, he would have needed to find a way to deal with it and _fast_.

He set the cup down, almost without slowing down his steps. Saying that he was getting restless was a huge understatement. Every time he woke up from one of those visions, he felt worse, more tired, less steady, and he couldn’t tell if it was the growing lack of sleep or if the dreams had somehow become worse, _heavier_ to bear in some way, even if, visually speaking, they hadn’t been more disturbing than the ones that had preceded.

The second time he had seen Q, he had initially found himself on a Starbase, not dissimilar from the several ones he had, for one reason or another, ended up on during his travels, even if he hadn’t been able to say if it was one of them specifically or just an image inspired by his memories. There had been people too, mostly uniforms, which meant Starfleet personnel, but also a few civilians. A carnival of skin tones, different features belonging to different races. Voices mixing together as conversations were carried out in the corridors. The familiarity had been so strong that it had _almost_ overcome the edgy feeling that seemed to be there to remind him that things were fated to go downhill very quickly.

Eventually, they had. He had found Q in one of the recreational areas. The entity stood out quite a bit, with that same odd outfit he had been wearing in the first dream. His shoulders had been to him when Picard had first spotted him and he hadn’t turned around when the Captain had called his name, nor when he had approached him. He had simply remained still in his spot, staring out at the stars. He hadn’t even offered a greeting, almost as if he had been _deaf_ to every word that had been thrown at him. There had been something chilling in the sight, even if he hadn’t been able to pinpoint _what_ exactly. Maybe it had been the visible tension in the entity’s back, or the cold aura that surrounded him. Or, perhaps, the fact that his figure formed no reflection in the glass.

What Jean-Luc knew was that, between being ignored and the raising agitation in his chest, he had lost his patience. He had grabbed the entity’s arm to force him to turn around and look at him, and he had found himself staring in the same wide open, crazed eyes he had seen the night before. Q hadn’t made an attempt to break away from his grip, but all of a sudden the room around them had grown quiet and the lights had faltered. When he had moved to look at what had happened, he had found no trace of the crowd that had been enjoying the space. Just an empty room that had looked like it had been deserted for _years_, furniture dusty and broken, cracks and stains on the walls, no sign of life. In a moment he had known that the entire station had to look like a _cemetery_, a ghost building, the ruins of what was left of the lively place it had been before its destruction, held together by emergency force fields that had prevented everything from being sucked out in space from the broken windows.

There had been no fire, no figures turning into ashes among the flames. And yet, the freezing air and the sense of emptiness left behind by what had once been life had felt equally _terrifying_. No screams, but the absolute silence had been just as _deafening_ and _dreadful_. The entity’s arm had turned icy cold under his touch and when Picard had turned to face him again, his skin had already took the same ill paleness of the the previous dream. His clothes had been once again torn, but there had been no wound bleeding light, not even a scar or a mark. But his eyes, those had been what had summoned the instinct to _flee_ this time. No blown pupils, no dark irises, no white around them. Just two dark black holes, identical, size aside, to the ones that populated the first part of his nightmares.

He had instantly let go of the other, as if his hand had been burnt, and he had jumped backwards, stumbling in the remains of one of the tables and losing his balance. He had woken up with a gasp in the same moment when his body, in the dream, had impacted against the force field surrounding the dead station, after falling through a large gap in the window. It had taken him almost a full minute, once he had calmed down, to disentangle his limbs from the sheets.

Jean-Luc’s steps finally paused in front of the rectangular window of the Ready Room and he folded his arms behind his back, brows knitting together in a tired frown. While he was trapped in the visions, what struck him the most were the _nightmarish_ elements they showed him, but in the aftermath, as the rush of fear and apprehension those images left behind faded, what kept haunting him, aside from the foreign emotions he had been experiencing since the first dream, were the _details_. First and foremost, Q’s erratic behaviour.

The entity seemed to show a completely different attitude in each nightmare and that fact made it even harder for him to approach the other. In the first vision Q had been a _duller_ version of himself, out of reach but not too much. In the following one, it had been as if a whole _abyss_ between was separating them. Even when he had touched him, even though the entity was technical in his mind, he had felt as if they had been on two different plans of reality. And it wasn’t like the other at all not to speak a single word. Picard was pretty certain that Q had to be a bit _in love_ with his own voice, considering how hard it was to shut him up. And it wasn’t always possible to do it. The being had gone back to acting a bit more normal only in the second to last dream he had had, even if, once again, he had still refused to acknowledge his questions and most of his words.

The Captain’s lips pursed slightly. “Normal” perhaps was a _too_ strong word. The entity had talked non-stop since the moment when Jean-Luc had found him, interrupting him continuously, voice _empty_ despite the _forcefully_ cheery tone he had adopted. His body language had been exaggerated, more than its usual was, the theatrics of it brought to exasperation. Every gesture had looked fake, almost _mechanical_, just as the false energy of his words.

They had been on a completely alien planet this time, one that he was sure he had never seen. Endless fields of very thin, soft purple grass, forests covering the remaining part of the lands with their vibrant colours, mountains on the horizon so high that their peaks disappeared in the clouds. The sky had had an emerald hue and the water of the stream he had crossed had looked as clear as the finest crystals. The entity had been sprawled on the ground, twirling some sort of exotic flower between his fingers. He had acknowledged him before Picard could even think about speaking this time and then had started to ramble about the “wonders” of the universe. All the places where humans hadn’t been, all the planets and the civilisations that had once been and now were no more, all the life that hadn’t come into existence yet. He hadn’t made completely sense, speaking too _fast_, mentioning names of places and people Jean-Luc knew _nothing_ of, but somehow that unstoppable flood of words had been so _enticing_ that he had almost given up on pressing his requests in favour of sitting down and letting it rush over him.

Of course, he hadn’t, because, no matter how much he _needed_ to relax, he was very well aware of what his priorities were and eventually Q’s tone and words had changed. His voice had lost its forced enthusiasm and had become _flat_ and his tales had moved from telling him about beautiful, fascinating places to talking about gruesome deaths, bloody massacres, weapons that had wiped out entire worlds with horrible consequences, the worst kind of tortures the Captain had ever heard of. The crimes that living beings had committed over and over and over against other life forms during the millennia.

The landscape had changed rapidly, dulling and losing his colours, as if it had been _infected_ by the shift in the entity’s behaviour and the delightful landscape had turned into a decaying, foul-smelling swamp. The woods had turned into petrified forest, the mountains in volcanos. The grass had rotten and the water had become turbid, of the most disgusting shade of brown. The crisp air had turned pungent to the point of being almost _unbreathable_ thanks to the fumes that raised from the marsh and Jean-Luc had eventually sunk in one of them and drowned, before waking up. Having mud filling his throat hadn’t been the most pleasant experience.

And then there had been the dream of the night before. The exploding supernova had deposited him seated at one of the tables in Ten Forward. It had been night cycle, he was in the same sleeping wear he had dressed in before going to bed and, if it hadn’t been for the fact that there was no one in sight, not even once he had ventured in the corridor, Picard would have _seriously_ taken into consideration the hypothesis of having sleepwalked around the ship and got there.

Predictably, Q had been on the bridge, the first place Jean-Luc had thought to check, slouched in the Captain’s chair, in that same odd war-like outfit of his, obviously waiting for him. His voice, harsh, openly mocking, had cut through the quiet buzzing of the ship’s systems, a greeting that had felt more like a stab in the chest. There had been no chance for questioning this time, nor the space to breathe out a single word before the setting had transformed. The bridge, and most likely the whole Enterprise, had filled with smoke, consoles and alarms going crazy with warnings of imminent failure of all ship systems. During his command, he had been close a few times to see his vessel destroyed, but somehow, even if he had known that it was a dream, it had _never_ looked so hopeless and inescapable.

“_I bet you wanted to tell me to get off your precious ship. Oh, don’t worry, mon capitaine, I will. But you, on the other hand…isn’t it custom for the Captain to go down with his vessel?_”

A small shiver ran down his spine at the memory of how _cruel_ Q’s tone had sounded as he spoke those words, right before snapping his fingers and switching their places, materialising Jean-Luc strapped to the Captain’s chair. Through the thickening cloud of smoke that had filled the room, he had managed to catch a glimpse of him, standing against the main screen, details indistinguishable if not for several spots of light puncturing through the otherwise blurred blurred figure. _Blood_, he had realised. Then the computer had buzzed out incomprehensible words and everything around him hard gone off into a ball of fire. But not before he could hear the _screams_. The same, incomprehensible words he had heard coming from the burning forest around the cottage, but the voices this time had been _painfully_ familiar, some more than others. The ones of his crew.

The last few moments of the dream had been almost predictable considering the context, but that hadn’t meant that he had been left less shaken. He had had others, similar but Q-less nightmares about his ship being destroyed and his crew killed, and some of them had taken an even more twisted hue after his experience as Locutus. Far too many times he had become the hand behind all that destruction and that prospective was even more terrifying than sitting in his chair, unable to do anything to save the people under his command.

He shook his head, hastily chasing away those thoughts. In his current stressed state of mind, dwelling on all the darkness those events had left inside him wasn’t a wise idea. Perhaps it was the case that he started to work on the reports he had described as “extremely urgent” and, that night, he would have tried to take Counsellor Troi’s advice more at heart. It was time for a change of strategy.

*********

When the blinding light dissipated, Picard was greeted by the smell of humid soil, cut grass and the faintest hint of lavender. There was a sun ray shining directly in his face and it forced to blink and narrow his eyes as he pushed himself in a seated position. It took him a moment to get used to the new luminosity, especially since he was still feeling dazed by the blast that had brought him into that second part of the dream, but, as soon as his sight was clear enough, one single look was enough to understand where he was.

Rows and rows of vines that ran towards the horizon, the red burst of poppies scattered around in the space between each of them and the violet glow of a field of lavender on his left, at the edge of the property, barely visible from where he was sitting, next to a dirt road. Apparently Q had chosen to drag him to his native home, after having destroyed the one he had among the stars in the previous dream.

Jean-Luc let out a heavy sigh as he got on his feet. He wasn’t exactly _eager_ to see how the entity would have devastated the house of his father and, for the briefest moment, he was tempted to just stay there, instead of going to look for him. It made him wonder what Q would have done, if he had refused to follow the rules of his twisted game. He shouldn’t have been able to do anything worse than what he had experienced until that moment, “shouldn’t” being the key word. It was _tempting_, but not enough to take the risk. Besides, that wasn’t what he had thought about when he had decided to try to face the problem in a different way.

The midday sun shone hotly on in his head as he walked the way towards the farmhouse. Considering the strength of the heat, it had to be either the end of spring or summer. Hhe didn’t mind too much, despite the sweat that was already started to gather on his skin, even if he would have lied if he had said that he didn’t welcome the shadows of the trees when he reached them. For some reason, he felt less tense than he had during the previous dreams. He wished he could believe that it was because he was _finally_ starting to get used to the pressure that the situation was putting on him, but it was more likely that he had either to thank the extreme familiarity of the place or to suppose that the entity was in a better mood for once. If it was the latter thing, perhaps it would have been his chance to get some answers. That last thought gave him a bit more of energy and he sped up his steps. There was only one way to find out. 

He found the front door already open, almost a quiet invitation, and he chose to walk his way to the backyard through the insides of the house, instead of going around the building. Everything was as he remembered it, not from his last visit on Earth, but from his childhood. His brother hadn’t changed much after he had taken possession of the property, but some changes had been _inevitable_, with the passing of time and the new people coming to inhabit the place. Small changes that would have evaded the eye of a stranger but that were _evident_ to Jean-Luc’s. He might have chosen to “run away to the stars”, as Robert had more than once accused him to have done, but that place was still home too.

He took his time to go through each room, fingers brushing the smooth, wooden surface of the furniture or lingering on the frame of a painting. He hesitated, one eyebrow raised slightly, in front of a bottle left on the desk in the living room, carefully sat away from the sunlight. He was tempted to think that it was his brain telling him that he needed a good drink, but it was highly unlikely. Deanna had been clear on that point. The vision wasn’t the fruit of his subconscious, so he should have no control on it. However, it didn’t make believing that it might have been left it on purpose any easier.

“To hell with it,” he ended up mumbling, picking it up. Whatever the reason for its presence was, be it just a pure consequence for decorating sake or something with a deeper meaning, he could have used a good drink.

Once again, he found Q waiting for him, seated cross-legged in one of four chairs set around the old external dining table. He was wearing his weird uniform, but he was barefooted, boots nowhere in sight, and he had removed both his gloves and the band around his head. The formers were sat in front of him, while he was twisting the latter in his fingers, wrapping and unwrapping it around them. His eyes were more focused, not forced more open than they would have naturally been, but they still were a shade darker than they should have been.

Picard glanced around, instinct pushing him to check for eventual threats or traps, and then slowly made his way towards him, cautiously. The entity looked more like himself in that moment, but prudence was never a bad idea when you were in enemy territory. His steps came to an abrupt stop when Q stretched an arm out, but his shoulders relaxed immediately as he realised that the other had just meant to push a chair out for him to take a seat. The Captain did, setting the bottle down in front of him and turning to look at the vines, patiently waiting. He had always been the first to try to speak and had done so asking questions. This time he had decided to leave the first move to the entity.

Said being remained quiet for a few minutes, gaze fixed ahead of him, showing no real intention to want to break the stasis in which they seemed to have fallen, until he abruptly reached out and grabbed the bottle, lifting it to his face to be able to study the label.

“I might have…ah, pushed it too far…was it last night for you, right?” Q finally spoke, a hint of reluctance touching his voice. Admitting mistakes wasn’t exactly something he enjoyed doing and he hadn’t done it often. However, he hadn’t been in his best state of mind during his previous visit inside the Captain’s head. Or rather, he had been in an even worse one than he usually was these days. “Blowing up your ship in such fashion. Even if it wasn’t the real one.” He had done worse things during his dealings with the crew of the Enterprise, but this time it had been _completely_ uncalled for. No lesson to teach, no provocation he had felt he needed to answer, nothing that had required him to make them even. He almost never played _fair_, but that didn’t mean that he chose to be _cruel_ without reason. “So…Try not to ask the wrong questions and perhaps this dream won’t end in a mess like the others.”

“Hard to follow that rule when it means not asking the questions I _need_ to ask, Q,” Jean-Luc pointed out, crossing his arms on his chest, locking his eyes on the entity, even if the latter hadn’t even just glanced at him yet. “But I will try to play along…For now. However, I need to know that my ship and my crew are safe from your…” He waved a hand in the general direction of their surroundings. “Whatever this is.”

Q’s dark eyes instantly shot towards him at his words, annoyance clearly visible in his features. “Your ship, your crew, your bloody command! Is _this_ all you can think about, Picard? Is your _tiny_ brain really _that_ limited?” He exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and almost dropping the bottle. “Why do I even bother with you when you are so _boring_! I should _really_ find myself a better hobby.” He rolled his eyes dramatically and then turned his head away. “But if you really must know, none of this is aimed to harm your precious ship. It’s just between you and me. Well, mostly me. In any case I have neither the time nor the will to bother myself with any other puny creatures right now.”

He couldn’t have even if he had wanted to, if he had to be honest with himself, but these days it was better if he _avoided_ sincerity all together. There was a certain façade that he needed to keep up and he wouldn’t have been able to do it if he had started to acknowledge all the truths that had been piling up behind it.

“And am I to assume that you won’t tell me _why_ that is?” The Captain asked, but he hurried to raise his hands in a gesture of surrender when his question was met with a stubborn wall of silence. Apparently that was one of the inquiries that would have made the situation deteriorate. “Alright, alright. Forget I asked.” He shifted in his seat for a moment, eyes checking the sky to make sure that it was still clear, before trying again. Making small talk with that being, among all the people, felt _absurd_ considering their problematic relationship, but it seemed to be what the entity wanted. “So, what’s with the outfit? Have you been spying on Commander La Forge’s latest movie nights?”

Q blinked, his expression relaxing once again, and he looked down at himself. “You don’t like it?” He asked, sounding almost _surprised_, as he pulled the hem of his tank top. “I know for certainty that this kind of clothing has been considered…what was the word?…ah yes, _cool_ by your race at some point. And I find it quite _manageable_.”

“You usually go for something more _flamboyant_, when you aren’t stealing Starfleet uniforms,” Jean-Luc answered, sidestepping the question and deciding than he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know what “manageable” was supposed to mean in such context. “And you might have picked the wrong century for that kind of fashion. Even if some young people might still use that adjective to describe it.” A thought struck him as soon as he finished that sentence. “Have you been spending time with Amanda perhaps?”

The entity’s face darkened again. “She’s a Q, _of course_ I’ve been spending time with her. We all spend time with each other,” he pointed out, even if he was well aware that it wasn’t what the man had asked him. He hadn’t lied, technically, and he could have stopped there, knowing that his reaction to the question would have prevented others on the subject to come. However, there was a reason why he was where he was now, despite all the risks. Limiting himself in such manner would have meant destroying the purpose of his “visits”. If he stayed vague enough, he could talk all he wanted. “But yes. The child and I _might_ have communicated more often than it’s strictly required.”

He frowned slightly. That was an understatement. He didn’t remember interacting so much with any of the other Q before her, not even with the few he had worked in close contact with. “Her time among humans has rubbed off her more than I had expected. She has the tendency to…get attached easily. And since I was sort of given the task to instruct her, she had unwisely chosen to get attached to _me_.” And look at where it had landed her.

“Poor girl,” Jean-Luc mumbled under his breath, resting his chin on the palm of his hand.

Q’s gaze flared again, incredulity and irritation mixing. “I heard that!” He exclaimed, straightening in his chair, expression betraying how outraged he felt, but he stopped before he could continue, noticing how the Captain’s lips were twitching, trying to hide an amused grin. With a huff, he let himself move back against the seatback. “Oh, _very_ funny. And look at who’s talking. From what I’ve heard, and I’ve heard it coming from _your_ lips, mon capitaine, you’re not exactly your best, or the most willing, when it comes to children.”

“Touché,” Picard conceded, unfazed by the fact that his words had been turned against him. Instead, he leant in and stole the bottle from the entity’s hands. The other had already come close to breaking it a couple of times and he didn’t wish to see his family’s wine to go to waste in such a way, even if it was just a dream and even if they wouldn’t be drinking it. “What about that planet, instead?”

“What planet?” Q asked back, looking almost caught off guard by his sudden change of subject. Now _that_ was a look that rarely touched his face. There was something _endearing_ in seeing such a powerful being so on the edge. It made him defensive, but it also made it easier to throw him off balance exactly because he was so busy shielding whatever secret he was hiding.

“The one you showed me two nights ago. Purple grass, green sky. Did you make it up or does it exist, somewhere?” At times, thinking about how much the entity and his people knew and had seen made Jean-Luc’s head hurt and his explorer’s heart swell with wanderlust.

Q’s eyes lit up with understanding and perhaps a spark of mischief. “Oh, _that_ one. It does exist, in a remote corner of the Delta Quadrant.” He waved a hand and two wine glasses materialised on the table, as he handed a corkscrew to the Captain’s with the other. “I already offered you to come with me and do a bit of sightseeing, but you turned me down every time.”

“I haven’t changed my mind about that,” Picard hurried to say before any other proposal of the sort could be made. Just in case. He didn’t know if the fact that they were in his mind meant that the other could somehow perceive his thoughts. Nothing so far had showed any evidence of the fact, but better to be safe than sorry. No need for Q to learn just how _tempting_ that kind of idea was. “My reasons still stand.” Then he raised an eyebrow, starting to work the bottle open. “You drink wine? Or…anything else?”

“So much worse for you, Jean-Luc,” the entity easily shot back with a scoff. “Even if I must say that I’m _disappointed_. One would expect someone with such a short lifespan to change their mind more quickly about the once-in-a-lifetime experiences they are offered. But you are _so_ stubborn. Inconceivable.” He fully ignored the eyeroll he received in answer to his words and instead he watched the human pouring the dark red liquid in their glasses. “And of course I do _not_. I have no need for substance the way you humans do. But _you_ do and you _enjoy_ it. So, since I’m not physically here and I’m living in this reality through _your_ mind, I’m going to like it too, no matter what it would taste like to me if I were to try it in real life.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Now, don’t hurt your head trying to wrap it around what I just said.”

The Captain shot him a glare, deciding that it was his turn to get irritated. “I’m not as…limited as you might think, Q,” he talked back, but then he just shook his head and picked up his own glass when he saw the shadow of a smirk touching the other’s lips. Deep down, however, he was almost _relieved_ by the teasing. Q was acting as he should have once again, even if their current situation was completely out of the ordinary. “I think I understand what you said. You’re experiencing this dream world using my memories to recreate the sensations, just as I am. Correct?”

“More or less. In truth it’s much more complicated, but I’ll spare you the real explanation.” Q sniffed the glass almost suspiciously before downing half of it in one, single gulp. He pursed his lips, making a face. “Ah. I had almost forgotten how odd it feels to…swallow things this way. How can you stand doing it all the time? It’s so _weird_.”

“Habit and natural instinct I guess,” Picard replied, choosing to ignore the not so subtle insult hidden in the entity’s first statement and taking a sip of his wine. He closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the taste. He could recognise the hints typical of that vintage almost too easily. It felt incredibly _real_, just as everything else. It wouldn’t have been hard to forget that what he was experiencing was just a dream. “And you’re supposed to drink it slowly, not to chug it down in one go.”

Q muttered something in a language that wasn’t Federation standard, or any other language a universal translator could understand apparently, but followed his instruction and took a much smaller gulp. The odd sensation was less bothersome that way, even if he avoided mentioning it. No need to give the Captain other reasons to feel smug.

Silence fell once again and, for some long minutes, none of them made a move to break it. Jean-Luc kept shooting the entity glances, in the attempt to prompt him to say something, even if he knew that his hopes that the other would have offered, without any prompting or push, a clue about the reason why they were there, drinking wine in his asleep mind, were vain. Q had made it clear that he had no intention to grant any sort of answer and, from his part, he had gone back staring in front of him, consuming his drink much faster than it would have been advisable. The Captain found himself wondering if it was possible to get _drunk_ in a dream and if someone like the being in front of him could have got drunk in the first place, in any circumstances. It seemed _very_ unlikely. A real pity because, if alcohol could have the same effects on the Continuum that it had on humans, a drunk Q would have surely been much more _talkative_.

He breathed out a huff, bringing his own glass up to his lips. As convenient as it would have been, perhaps the fact that it was nothing but a mere _fantasy_ was for the best. The situation was already far too surreal and he had the feeling that the entity would have retaliated very _creatively_ if he had tried to pull such a dirty trick on him. If for now his ship and crew were safe, he had no doubt that angering the other would have meant putting them all in great danger.

“Q,” he called out in the end, slowly setting his drink down. The night couldn’t last forever and he had noticed that the being sat next to him had started to fidget more and more, his movements betraying the restlessness that his carefully blank expression was trying to hide. Picard chose to interpret it as a sign that their time together was coming to an end, and as his clue to try and ask questions again. If they were to part ways in any case, it was worth a try. He could handle being woken up after yet another gruesome death knowing that it wasn’t real. “You really don’t want to tell me what’s going on with you?”

Predictably, Q’s shoulders instantly stiffened and his fingers tightened so much around the glass that it shattered in his grip. A few fragments cut through his skin, spilling drops of starlight all over his palm, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he reached out and grabbed his gloves, slipping them on with a small wince, before busing himself with tying the black cloth back around his head.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn, Picard?” The entity grumbled under his breath, standing up abruptly and almost knocking the chair over. Above them, the sky was starting to get darker, clouds gathering above their heads, obscuring the sun and drawing new, dangerous shadows all around on the land. “You humans and your need to know everything. Why can’t you just let it go? For once! Especially since it’s _none_ of your business. Why can’t you just…”

Instead of finishing the sentence, he threw his hands in the air and let out a disgruntled sound. He hated all that insistence, hated it _beyond_ measure. It hit his nerves every time how the Captain refused to just accept what was presented to him. He had to question every single fact, dig deeper and deeper, until he got to the core of it. No matter the consequences, no matter the cost. He despised it and yet it was also one of the many features of the man, and of his species too, that he found unbearably _enticing_.

“I have to go,” he declared, lifting a finger to prevent any protest. “Don’t try to follow me, Jean-Luc. You won’t like what will happen if you do.”

Picard, who had already begun to stand up, aborted the action and let himself fall back in the chair. Insisting would have been useless, he could tell it by how hard Q’s eyes had become, even if the entity hadn’t glanced back at him, while he spoke. The first, heavy drops of rain had started to fall, fast and large, promising one hell of a storm. They had established some sort of contact and he had the other’s word, for what it was worth, that his crew wouldn’t be involved. For now that would have to be enough.

“Then go,” he said, swallowing all the inquiries that were still pressing against his lips. He clenched his fists. “But I won’t stop trying to get the truth out of you, and you know that.”

The scoff he received as a reply told him more than a thousand words could have and he was left there, watching Q marching out in the tempest, apparently unfazed by how quickly his clothes got soaked. The storm was raising quickly and it didn’t take long for the rain to become so thick that he lost sight of the tall figure, just before the hail started to fall too. He could hear the stones of ice slashing through the leaves, tearing them apart. It was easy for him to picture how the vines were being wounded, perhaps even destroy by the growing fury of the elements. There was no scorching, starving rage this time, nor the dreadful cold of death lingering on the scenario before his eyes, but he could feel an intense sense of _mourning_. Something had been lost, many lives but not only them. There was a deeper meaning under those agonising and yet _quiet_ emotions, one he couldn’t fully grasp. However, he knew that it was so _powerful_ that even the sky seemed to be crying for that loss.

As the dream started to fade, this time without any violent, abrupt ending, the wind splashed some raindrops on his face, wetting his lips, and he realised, half way between sleep and consciousness, that the water was _salty_. Could they be actual _tears_?

*********

It is really true that you come to realise how important some things are only when you have lost them. And, if you manage to get it back, it ends up looking even more cherished. Even if the dreams hadn’t even lasted two full weeks, now, after four nights of proper, uninterrupted sleep, Picard had truly understood the extent of damage that the disturbance Q had caused in his sleep-wake cycle. Everything came incredibly easier now, no matter how demanding or complex the task he was required to face was. Deep down he was aware that it was just an impression, that none of his duties were actually less difficult than they had been until a few days earlier, that it was just him having more energies to face them, but it still felt _wonderful_. Even his mood had improved and the crew had noticed, Riker and Troi before anyone else.

“I’m so glad that these talks are almost over,” Will was saying, sat across from him at one of the tables in Ten Forward. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad that Starfleet moderators have been able to help settling such a nasty contention, but at times I wish they didn’t choose to involve the flagship in every somehow politically important affair.”

“They involve us in those exactly because we are the flagship, Number One,” Jean-Luc pointed out, matter-of-factly, but deep down he completely agreed with his First Officer. The parties involved were all people from the same stellar system, so they hadn’t had to escort the ambassadors on the chosen site for the conference, but the Enterprise had been ordered to stay in orbit since the beginning of those three, painfully endless days, a part of the crew stationed planetside for the whole time of the talks. He himself had been forced to sit at the table, even if just as an observer. A guarantee to maintain order during the long discussions. “However, I must say that I prefer our more scientific oriented missions myself.”

“I believe we have been lucky enough this time,” Deanna cut in from above her bowl of soup. “When I first met the ambassadors, considering the animosity they all felt towards each other, I wouldn’t have expected them to find an agreement so quickly. Especially considering that the Regarsians had been threatening acts of war till the week before the talks.”

“You know what they say about gift horses and mouths…” Riker mumbled, taking a sip of water. “An old Earthen saying,” he added then, at slightly puzzled look Troi shot him. He stubbed a piece of vegetable in his plate. “It basically means “don’t be too suspicious or ungrateful when you receive a gift”. And a quick resolution for this situation is what I call a good present.”

“I see,” the woman replied, even if her tone suggested that she didn’t agree at all. “However, I can’t help feeling that this is too _easy_. Complex problems don’t just disappear on their own.” And with those words she shot a pointed look at her Captain.

Picard almost rolled his eyes at that. He knew far too well what that glance meant. The Counsellor had made a very similar after his second Q-free night. He understood where she was coming from and he agreed that the entity’s absence didn’t mean that his dreams issue had been solved, but he didn’t see why he shouldn’t exploit the calm to recover. After all, there was really nothing he could do until Q decided to come back and pester him. He had even tried, though admittedly only half-heartedly, to call for the entity in the few moments he had been alone, but he had got no answer. He didn’t see what else she expected him to do while dealing with a mostly omnipotent being who had always done everything, or almost, how he wanted and when he wanted. For how he saw it, his only option was to wait.

“While it is true that, for the most, when something comes far more easily than it should, there is always a catch somewhere, we have done everything in our power to deal with the situation,” he talked back calmly, raising an eyebrow and holding her gaze. “Among all the possibilities, we could as well take Will’s into consideration and not dismiss the fact that, for once, we’ve truly been lucky. Or that perhaps the animosity between these people, despite how strong it was, didn’t have equally solid bases.”

“Perhaps. But, Captain, while I believe that people can change their minds and their beings, my experience also tells me that decades, if not centuries, of feelings and attitudes cannot be erased in three days, no matter how well the confrontation goes,” Deanna objected once again, still offering him the same expression. “And you must admit that said confrontation hadn’t gone so miraculously well to make it even thinkable that the whole matter can already be put at rest.”

Will looked between the woman and his commanding officer, raising a brow in turn. “Why do I have the feeling that you two are no longer talking about the same thing we’ve been discussing?” He asked. He hadn’t missed the close interactions between the Captain and Troi in the last couple of weeks, just as he had noticed the former’s mood swings. They had got better, and quickly, in the last couple of days, despite the stress brought by their current mission, but that hadn’t made him less curious, and slightly concerned too, about the whole issue. Of course he hadn’t pressed it, since Deanna had told him not to, but it didn’t change how he felt towards it. “Is there something I should be informed of?”

Jean-Luc shook his head. He didn’t like keeping his First Officer so obviously in the dark, but his wish not to alarm anyone else on board for what he now knew for sure being a _personal_ matter still stood. “No, Number One. The Counsellor and I just had a very similar discussion not long ago.”

“And just as for this one, we disagree on that other matter too,” Troi finished, setting down her spoon. Then she stood, picking up her trail. “I would like to retire for the night, if you’ll excuse me. Dealing with all the emotions the ambassadors and their parties have for each other has been exhausting. Tomorrow will be a crucial day and I wish to be in my best shape to face it.”

“Of course, Counsellor,” Picard readily replied, as both him and Riker got on their feet. “I think I will soon follow your example. We all need some rest. Goodnight.”

Deanna kissed the Commander on the cheek and then nodded at the Captain. “That’s something we can agree on.” Then her lips twitched in a light smile. “Sweet dreams.”

Jean-Luc almost rolled his eyes at that, ignoring the slightly confused look Will shot at both him and the woman’s retiring form. If he had to be honest with himself, he was wishing for another dreamless night. He would have been able to deal with what the next day would have presented to them more easily if he hadn’t been confronted by some nightmarish vision, or weird conversation, in his sleep.

“What was all that about?” His First Officer questioned, as they took their seats back.

Picard thought of dismissing the matter as he had done just a few minutes earlier, but he eventually decided against it. Not offering even the slightest clue made it even more evident that he had something to _hide_ and he didn’t wish the other man to make the wrong assumptions.

“Deanna is merely teasing me. To try to…cheer me up,” he settled on saying, waving a hand vaguely. He wasn’t going to lie, but he would have avoided offering any sort of details. “I’ve been having…odd dreams lately. Nothing worth of concern, but they have been keeping my mind occupied. The Counsellor is trying to help me…processing them. Finding out what they mean.”

“Dreams,” Riker repeated, in a tone that made it clear that it was the last thing he would have expected to hear. For a moment he seemed to be about to question the matter further, but in the end he changed his mind and sipped his drink again. “Far from wanting to steal Deanna’s job or even to believe that I could be more qualified to advise you on the matter, but, if you ask me, a good way to keep unwanted dreams at bay is having a glass of something a bit more…_real_ than synthetol. It can work _wonders_ at times.”

The declaration was followed by a moment of silence during which Jean-Luc eyed his second-in-command to understand if the other was serious or was just trying to tease him in turn, but Will’s expression didn’t change and his somehow secretive smile showed no intentions of disappearing. Not a joke then. But, after all, he would have lied if he had stated that he hadn’t already used that trick a few times himself.

“You know what, Number One?” He finally said, turning his attention back to what was left of his dinner. “I might as well give your suggestion a try and…switch my evening tea with something a bit stronger for once. On one thing the Counsellor is absolutely right. We want to be at the best of our shapes for the day that waits ahead of us.”

The Commander’s grin widened slightly but visibly and he playfully clunk his glass against Picard’s. “Happy to have been of service, Captain. Let me know how it goes.”

The Captain couldn’t help returning the smile, even if just briefly. “Oh, I believe my face tomorrow will be enough to tell the both of us how that little experiment went without me needing to say a single word.”

*********

When he blinked awake, it took Jean-Luc a moment to recognise his surroundings. His mind was still heavy with sleep and the fact brought him to deduce that, for a reason he still couldn’t identify, he had woken up much, _much_ earlier than he should have. He didn’t recall having any sort of dream nor to have seen any black hole or exploding nova before finding himself back in his quarters, in the almost exact position he had laid down earlier that night.

“Computer, time,” he ordered in the dark, almost dreading the answer. As irrational as it was, the prospect of a sleepless night left him as on the edge as the remains of one full of nightmares.

“It’s 0200,” the artificial voice swiftly replied, confirming his suspicion. He had barely got three hours of sleep. No wonder he was still feeling so numb.

With a heavy sigh, he swung his legs off the mattress and stood up, rubbing his hands on his face in the attempt to clear his thoughts. He wished for nothing more than going back into his slumber, but he had the feeling that it might have taken him a while to beat his mind into submission and be allowed to fall asleep once again. In the meanwhile, he could have _really_ used a glass of water.

He didn’t bother to turn on the lights as he made his way to the replicator. He might not spend much time in his quarters, but he had familiarised himself with them enough to know them by heart. Biting back another sigh, he picked up the drink as soon as it materialised just to almost drop it on the floor when, as he turned around, his eyes met a figure leaning against the opposite wall, near one of the windows. His fingers instantly ran to his combadge, but a familiar voice, one that had become even _more_ familiar in the last couple of weeks, stopped him mid-gesture.

“No need to call for Security, mon capitaine. It’s just old me,” Q announced, without moving from his spot, head turned towards the stars shining beyond the glass. “And it would be a waste of breath. No one will come anyway. Nor will the lights respond, so don’t bother trying to turn them on.”

“Q!” Jean-Luc exclaimed, irritation colouring his voice more out of habit than because he was feeling it. Perhaps he should have taken the brief talking about dreams he and his two officers had had at dinner as a bit of an omen. “What are you doing in my quarters?” A thought struck him. “Are you really here or is this another dream?”

The entity finally moved, leaving the wall in favour of letting himself fall heavily on the couch. “_Of course_ it’s a dream. I think I sort of mentioned it before, didn’t I?” He pointed out and, if his face had been visible, the Captain would have noticed a pensive expression appearing on it. “Perhaps I haven’t made it clear enough. I _can’t_ leave the Continuum right now because…reasons.” The last thing he wanted and could afford at that moment was to lose his powers. That would have been _beyond_ inconvenient and a little trip in that universe, no matter how _desired_, wasn’t definitely worth the risk. “So I’m not here…physically.” He pursed his lips. “That’s actually incorrect, since I’m _never_ in this universe in my true form. Not completely at least.”

He made a dismissive noise and waved a hand. How hard it was to simplify such complex things for a being that had no idea of how the Q existed, how they transcended reality in the way humans knew it. He didn’t have the time nor the energy to explain any of that, and not even to use it to mock the man. He shouldn’t have been there in the first place with all that had been happening since after his last visit.

“In any case, I can reach you only via dream. That’s what matters,” he finished, dropping his head against the edge of the couch. “I guess I can access your mind even if I’m not supposed to because of the…_special_ connection we have developed. An _oddity_, really. Who would have guessed it…” His voice trailed off for a moment and, when he resumed his speech, it took an almost _resentful_ hue. “The things I’ve done and still do for you and because of you, Jean-Luc…I wouldn’t do them for anyone else. Not for free and sure as hell never willingly or unprompted. I think that has earned me a few rights, hasn’t it?”

Picard slowly sat down at the other end of the couch, brows knitted together. Almost nothing of what Q was saying made sense, even if once again the other wasn’t sounding delirious as he had in a couple of dreams. Special connection? Rights? What the devil was the entity rambling about? While he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what kind of bond the being thought they had developed, he was a bit concerned about the _rights_ he thought he had. Rights on _what_? Was he referring to his continuous intrusion in his mind? And there was also the fact that he was apparently _stuck_ in his own dimension, or where it was that his people lived. That couldn’t be a good sign. More evidence that Deanna could be right and that Q could _truly_ be in trouble with the Continuum once again.

“Q, you’re making no sense,” he claimed in the calmest tone he could master, trying to catch glimpses of whatever look was dwelling on the entity’s face, but the faint light of the stars had turned his features in a messy palette of shadows. “You made it clear that you don’t want to tell me what’s going on. Fine. Or rather, not fine at all, but that’s a discussion for another time. However, if you refuse to give me the information I need, you cannot expect me to keep up with what you insist on talking about.”

The noise that Q let out was _displeased_, to say the least, but Jean-Luc caught him offering a small nod of assent. “If that’s the price not to have you bugging me, then I’ll shut up,” he grumbled, crossing his arms on his chest. “I didn’t come here to do small talk anyway.”

“For how I see it, it’s _you_ bugging _me_,” the Captain pointed out, but there was no real heat in his voice. He hesitated for a split moment, before deciding that he needed to ask. “Why are you here then? Tonight, I mean. What exactly do you want from me?”

The entity didn’t reply right away, even if Picard saw him turning his head towards him from where it was still lying against the couch. Despite the lack of light, it was far too easy to picture those dark eyes scrutinising him, _literally_ bearing into his thoughts and into his soul, assuming that he had one. That penetrating gaze most likely held all the answers he was seeking and was being denied, but they were out of reach, just as full understanding of whatever Q said and did always was.

“I’d ask for a massage, but that would be pushing my boundaries, wouldn’t it?” The reply finally came, a hint of amusement colouring the words. “Just let me have some peace and quiet before I go back to … do what I have to do.”

Tiredness was the last thing Jean-Luc would have even thought of associating with such a powerful being, but the voice that spelled that last sentence sounded positively _exhausted_. If it had been anyone else, he would have said that he had heard a hint of _vulnerability_ in it too, but that couldn’t be possible, could it? Then again, he knew almost _nothing_ of Q’s world and people. They might seem close to the definition of “gods” to beings like him and they acted as such, but that didn’t mean that it was what they truly were. An unlimited lifespan and immense power weren’t enough to make you invincible.

“I won’t take up much of your time,” the entity added, snapping him out of his thoughts. “I can’t stay long in any case.” A scoff followed. “Duty calls.” His tone then lightened slightly. “And you know, you should be grateful to have my company. I remember from that one time how _terrifying_ sleeping is. Complete unconsciousness, basically being _dead_ to the world. At least I’m keeping your mind alive in one world. Even if it’s a made up one.”

“Pity that humans _need_ their minds to stay dead to any world for a while, if they want to rest decently,” Picard pointed out, rolling his eyes slightly. “And, as I said back then, I’m used to sleeping. I don’t find the experience frightening at all. Aside from when I’m having unpleasant dreams, like the ones I’ve been experiencing lately.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re no fun?” Q shot back readily, but without a bite.

The Captain didn’t seem the comeback worth of an answer and so, after that, they elapsed into silence. The entity remained perfectly still in his spot, while he busied himself with finishing his glass of water first and looking around the room then. He soon found himself wishing that he had a book he could have read because, while Q seemed oddly _content_ with the peace and quiet he had requested, as incredible as it might have been, he soon started to feel _uneasy_. He had never liked being kept in the dark about matters that involved him and, whatever the other’s problem, it had become his too from the first moment when the entity had chosen to take refuge in his mind. His patience in such matters could only last so much.

Allowing his eyes to slide closed, he forced himself to shift in a more comfortable position. If he had to wait, doing it with his back and shoulders stiff wouldn’t have been the most pleasant choice. He could as well try to steal a page from Q’s book, since for once the entity seemed to be having the best idea, and relax. At first everything in his position felt _unnatural_, but the feeling was quick to fade, the daze that had been reigning over his mind returning and melting part of the tension that was lingering in his limbs. He found himself wondering if it was possible to fall asleep in a dream. It didn’t seem so _absurd_, considering that everything could happen in the subconscious, even the impossible. Besides, the one he was living was _hardly_ a normal dream. Technically speaking, even if that space belonged to his mind, he wasn’t the one creating it. In a sense, he was living in a parallel reality.

He got so lost in his own thoughts that he had almost forgotten world around him, including his unusual company, when a movement from the other side of the couch startled him back to the present. Or at least, to the dream world that currently was his present. His eyes snapped open and he looked up to find that Q had stood up and was now looking around, as if not knowing what to do. The Captain blinked a few times before straightening in his seat, feeling at loss in front of the entity’s uncertainty. The lack of confidence that his attitude betrayed felt so _wrong_ that he had no idea of what to do with it. He found himself hesitating in turn, until he made up his mind and opened his mouth to speak, but the other interrupted him before he could spell out a single word.

“Speaking of that one time I was turned human,” Q said, as if the whole minutes of silence that had passed after the end of their previous conversation hadn’t existed. “Remember when I came to your office, before I stole that shuttlecraft and tried to get myself killed and all?”

“I remember it, and pretty well. Unfortunately, you have the ability to make yourself _hard_ to forget,” Picard replied, not without a hint of sarcasm, as he mentally prepared himself for another senseless speech. “What about that particular episode?”

The entity brought a hand to his chest, an expression of mock surprise on his face. “Oh, _why_, thank you, Jean-Luc! That’s so _nice_ of you. And I aim to _impress_.” Despite the darkness, somehow his smirk was perfectly visible for the few seconds it lasted, before his expression sobered up again, turning in a blank mask. “My point is…Nothing has changed, has it? No one will miss me if I was to…_disappear_. That’s still a given. And the idea of…not being anymore. That’s still something I don’t really think about, even if, you know. Immortality and invulnerability are two _very_ different things. But, at least, if it will end, it won’t be the death of a coward. It’s not when you’re facing your responsibilities, is it?”

The Captain could only blink for a few moments, as his brain struggled to catch up with the words he had been addressed. Why was _Q_, a being who was supposed to be _eternal_, talking about _dying_? What was he missing? Surely the Continuum wouldn’t have killed him off, no matter what crime he might have committed…would they? And could a Q even stop existing? It was hard to believe after the way in which the entity had spoken about death that one time. He had clearly been implying that it wasn’t something that concerned him. But was it true or was it the same lack of awareness that most young people had, for the mere reason that death at their age seemed such a _remote_ chance, even if it was just as easily possible as it was for everyone else? All those visions of death and destruction he had been forced to witness…Could their message have been so _simple_? His head was starting to hurt and the agitation in his chest was taking a new colour.

“What are saying, Q? Are you getting…punished again? Are they going to throw you out for good?” He asked, raising on his feet before he could realise what he was doing. “Are they going to…Can your kind even die, without being stripped of their powers first?”

Q waved a finger. “Jean-Luc, Jean-Luc, Jean-Luc. Didn’t we agree on no questions? You’re breaking the rules. And that’s _not_ good,” he warned in a tone that would have been teasing if his voice hadn’t sounded so hollow once again. “I’ll tell you something, though. During history many species had tried to identify the constants of the universe. Dimensions, space, time…and so many other candidates. None of those hypotheses are correct, and most likely none of the ones that will come will be. Take it from someone who has been around for _billions_ of years, even if I admit that I’ve learnt this particular lesson a bit too late. The one and only constant of existence? Its opposite. Death, annihilation, non-existence. Anything else can be changed, undone. But there’s no way to come back once you stopped existing completely.”

He raised a hand, to prevent the man from spelling out any protest, and pretended to check a watch he wasn’t wearing on his wrist. He gestured the door as he started to move towards it. “I must go. Thanks for the lovely chat! Seeing you always help my mood. Aside from when you tell me to get off your ships.” Another smirk, much less bright than the previous one, much _faker_. “Ah, I know what you think, Picard. That’s what you tell me every time. What can I say? Maybe I developed a liking for being verbally manhandled by you.”

“Q!” The Captain called out, barely keeping himself from taking a step forward. His mind raced. The last time they had had a similar talk, he hadn’t done or said anything and the entity had almost got himself _killed_. He hadn’t seen it coming, even if perhaps he should have. However, back then the two of them didn’t have as much history as they did now. Back then he wouldn’t have regretted his indifferent silence as he would have now and he had already far too many regrets. Given the chance, he would have gladly avoided adding another to his long list. Why not allowing himself a _small_ admission, when technically it wouldn’t even have been left his mind? “For what it’s worth, I might, and care that I said _might_, miss your unprompted, unwelcome visits. Maybe you weren’t totally wrong when you stated that your…interference spiced up our lives.”

Q’s steps came to an abrupt stop at those words and he fully turned to look at the human, his eyes clearly having no troubles with seeing in the dark. Once again, Jean-Luc felt that ancient gaze slipping under his skin, looking for who knows what. No words were spoken and yet it felt like a thousand of incomprehensible sentences had passed between them. Then, after one more moment of tense silence, the entity turned around again, showing his intention not to delay his leave any further. And yet, when the automatic door opened, he paused once again, glancing back from above his shoulder.

“Ah, one more thing. If I were you, Picard, I’d be careful around that grumpy ambassador Counsellor Troi dislikes so much. He definitely has a…how to say?..._explosive_ personality.” He lifted a hand in a parting gesture. “Au revoir, mon capitaine.”

And he was gone before Jean-Luc could have the time to process his last words, let alone everything that had just happened and the endless, not so subtle implications of what had been said.

With an exasperated noise, the Captain let himself fall back on the couch, an arm thrown across his eyes. His headache had quickly evolved in that unique kind of migraine that only Q was capable of giving him and he was ready to admit that, as much as he had meant what he had said, if he was _never_ to see the other again, that was one of the things associated with the entity that he wouldn’t have missed at all.

He allowed his arm to drop, but he kept his eyes closed. That time the setting of the dream had stayed intact, and yet he was experiencing the same kind of anguish he had felt while drowning in the mud of the swamp that had taken over that alien planet he had been shown. Perhaps it was because, in a way, he was _suffocating_ once again, this time in all the unanswered interrogatives, old and brand new, that had been brought back at full force in his mind. He could almost taste the restlessness of each question in the air he breathed, as if they had been there, floating all around him, crowding him, threatening to smother him for real.

He shook his head slowly, hands gripping at the cloth of his sleepwear. He had to regain control of his thoughts. The chaos that had exploded in his mind wasn’t going to help. Quite the contrary. A small burst of irritation caused his features to contract in a frown. This was all _Q’s_ fault. Somehow the entity always managed to bring disorder in his coming, even when he perhaps didn’t mean to. No wonder the primitive cultures that had encountered him had always labelled him as some sort of _malicious_ deity. Picard wouldn’t have been surprised if it had turned out that he had visited Earth in ancient times too and that all the myths surrounding Loki, Eris, Anansi and all the other trickster deities ever mentioned in the various mythologies had been inspired by him.

He breathed in slowly a couple of times before opening his eyes again. There was little he could do about those questions right now, though, unless he wanted to assume that all that was nothing but a huge, bad _prank_, a possibility that for once, despite the being involved, seemed _extremely_ remote. What he could focus on, instead, was that small warning that the entity had thrown in his way. It was both disturbing and reassuring to learn that Q had kept his word about watching over humanity, and over him and his crew in particular. In that case, though, it would have surely turned out to be very _useful_, if what he had implied was true and if Jean-Luc had interpreted it correctly.

He pushed himself up on his feet once again, heading back towards the sleeping area of his lodgings. He and his crew had an even fuller morning than expected waiting ahead of them. Time to find out how effective Deanna’s relaxation techniques were, despite the storm raging inside his head, and especially if he could truly fall asleep while existing inside a dream.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _07/12/2019: Part 3 reviewed and corrected._

“_That_ was what I call a close call,” Riker commented, as he took his usual seat on the bridge. The Enterprise was preparing to leave orbit, a course for the closest Starbase already plotted by the Ensign at the elm. “If Data and Geordie hadn’t managed to crack the mechanism of that bomb in time…” His eyes moved back towards the planet they were about to leave behind. “Half of the city would have been gone by now.” He then moved his gaze on the Counsellor who had already sat down on the other side of the Captain’s chair. “You were right, Deanna. The threat was more serious than we had anticipated.”

“To be honest, even I hadn’t grasped that the ambassador could have tried something so extreme,” the woman felt the need to clarify, the shadow on her face betraying how shaken she still was by what had almost happened. “I felt his contempt, his hostility, but I would have _never_ imagined that he would…” She let her voice trail off, not wishing to finish the sentence, and instead turned to look at Picard, who was still standing in front of the main screen of the bridge. “If it hadn’t been for you, Captain, we would be counting the casualties by now. Assuming that we wouldn’t have been among them. How did you know?”

“Yeah, how did you guess that they would have gone for a bomb?” Will echoed, glancing at him in turn, his eyes both intrigued and calculating. “It could have been anything. Or nothing at all.”

Jean-Luc ran a hand on his forehead, before turning to face his two officers. “That’s a good question,” he admitted, because it was and it wasn’t one he could give an honest reply to. “What the Counsellor said last night about the ambassador got stuck in my mind and if guess I had a…nightly intuition.” He pretended not to notice the way in which Troi’s eyes widened as she easily read between the lines of his words. “A bomb was the most logical choice. According to Starfleet’s reports, the Regarsians are real _experts_ when it comes to explosive. They are a society of miners, and it had been easy enough for them to apply their original expertise to war and combat.”

“That’s true,” his First Officer agreed, leaning against his chair, fingers slowly brushing his beard in a pensive gesture. “Good thing our technology is sophisticated enough to trace their weapons, even if not so effective in deactivating them.”

“Good thing indeed,” Picard agreed, finally taking his seat in turn. “Even if avoiding this whole situation would have been better for everyone. Now the talks for the treaty would have to start from the beginning once again and I have the feeling that the other governments won’t forget what the Regarsian reagent has tried to do any time soon. Those people will be facing another harsh period of their history.”

“Hopefully the Federation will be able to make the process smoother for all the parties involved, despite this setback,” the Counsellor added, his brown eyes taking a moment to have one last look at the planter before it completely disappeared from their sight.

Her gaze, however, quickly moved back on the Captain and that was enough for him to know that he had to expect a conversation with her about the dream he had had that night. For some reason the idea evoked a strong _reluctance_ from his part. He didn’t feel like discussing what Q had implied and especially he had no real will to talk about how such knowledge made _him_ feel. Because, eventually, Troi would have directed the conversation in that sense and he wasn’t comfortable analysing something he hadn’t had a chance to explore on his own yet. If he had ever chosen to explore it in the first place. Experience had taught him a long time ago that some personal things, especially if they might have turned out _inconvenient_, were better left alone.

“Speaking of Starfleet future involvement, I imagine that the Command will want to begin their intervention as soon as possible. So, perhaps, it might be for the best if we get started with the paperwork,” he added, trying to ignore the fact that he had jumped on Deanna’s observation and turned it into an escape route for himself. He wasn’t fleeing from her, just as he wasn’t fleeing from all the what-ifs that his last vision had left him. He was simply postponing them for a later, hopefully _better_ moment, assuming that it would have ever come. What he knew was that now was _not_ the right time to face any of it.

“I’ll be in my Ready Room,” he declared, standing up once again and fixing his uniform. “Number One, the bridge is all yours.”

“Yessir,” Riker automatically replied, quickly switching seats. However, his expression turned into the shadow of a frown as he watched his commanding officer’s retreating back. “Will you ever tell me what’s going on?” He questioned, turning to look at Troi, whose eyes had moved in the direction of the Ready Room as soon as it had been mentioned. “Because you _do_ know, don’t you? The Captain has been spending a lot of time in your office lately and don’t think I haven’t noticed how you stalk him every time you have the chance to find him on his own.”

“I do _nothing_ of the sort, Will,” the woman replied, turning to shoot him a glare, but it was only heartfelt. “But I won’t offend your intelligence by denying the obvious. There is something going on. However, I can’t talk about it. It’s an issue of a…personal nature, you could say, and the Captain doesn’t wish to concern anyone with it.”

“I’m concerned just fine without him saying a single word, so he might as well,” Riker pointed out, crossing his arms on his chest. “If it’s truly personal and it doesn’t interfere with the ship operations, I’m ready to respect his will…But I’m not the only one who’s been wondering. Soon enough the crew will need to be _officially_ told that there’s nothing to worry about if this goes on.”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” Deanna stated, even if, deep down, she knew that Will was right. As well trained as the ship personnel was, they would have started to ask questions if they had felt that their Captain was too preoccupied with something other than his duties, even while on shift. “For now it’s all under control.”

She bit her lower lip in the same moment when the words left her mouth. As much as she wanted to believe them herself, the truth was that they felt as a huge _lie_. They might have made some steps forward, but they still had no real idea of what was going on, of what Q’s true motives were. Now Picard seemed to be on the verge of closing off again, just as he had tried to do at the beginning, most likely because of something that had happened in the latest dream, and she didn’t like it. She could help only so far if he didn’t allow her in.

She bit back a sigh and then she suddenly found herself forced to hide the sudden grin that had threatened to spread on her face, as a thought popped in her head. On one thing she completely agreed with Q: Jean-Luc Picard was definitely one of the most _stubborn_ creatures she had ever met.

*********

Waiting was often a big part of a Captain’s job, but the fact that it was a recurrent circumstance didn’t make the wait any easier to bear, especially when it felt like the calm before the tempest. It could rattle your nerves, send your thoughts running in a loop, no matter how hard you tried to keep your mind off the growing anticipation. And when you were faced with the _unknown_, with so many possibilities and no clue that could point you in the direction of what to expect, keeping yourself from speculating was almost _impossible_, even if you knew that it wouldn’t have led any closer to the answer.

Every Starfleet officer, no matter the rank, was, before anything else, an _explorer_ by definition. The motto of the organisation they had chosen to join, “to boldly go where no man has gone before”, summed up pretty much everything that wearing that uniform meant. It was reaching out into the depth of space even if you couldn’t see where you were going. It was making contact with civilisations that were completely different from yours, culturally, socially, biologically. It was accepting to face whatever danger space could hide ahead, accepting that you might have not come back from a mission. And, in a way, it also meant being prepared to dive far more deeply inside yourself than you would have ever thought possible. The unknown wasn’t for everyone, despite the strong fascination that it held on almost every living being, and it never ceased to be _terrifying_, even for those who chose it and found the strength to face whatever lay in wait beyond the borders of the known universe.

For Picard, the current situation was one of those where the unpredictability of the future echoed inside him, resulting in a wave of inner _uncertainty_. He had chosen to treat those visions as a personal matter, a decision that had seemed even more correct after it had turned out that Q was responsible for them and that the entity too seemed to consider it an affair between the two of them, but he hadn’t expected it to go as deeply as it had. Now, with a night free from any sort of imposed dream between him and their last talk, he was starting to wonder if, perhaps, he should have handled the issue differently.

Luckily for him, after having avoided the massacre at the conference, there had been no other urgent business for the Enterprise to attend to, but that hardly excused the fact that he had been extremely distracted. He and Deanna had agreed that they would have kept the matter between them as long as it didn’t interfere with his ability to perform his duties, but how could he respect such terms when all he seemed to be able to focus on were the words of a being who, the more he thought about it, had sounded more and more like someone mere hours away from his _execution_?

Jean-Luc toyed with the PADD he was holding, staring at the written lines on its screen without really seeing them. He had lost people before. On the line of duty. By natural causes. Because they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. At the hand of an unfair justice. Some had been dear friends, colleagues. People he admired, people he respected. Their deaths had heaved his mind in the aftermath, but they had _never_ brought out all those doubts, all those questions about existence. Inquiries he didn’t even know he had. Moreover, Q didn’t belong to any of those categories, did he? The entity had been half way between a dangerous but playful adversary and an unwelcome but useful ally. Some sort of…guardian _demon_, the kind of advocate that no one in their sane mind would want to hire because he was more likely to get you in trouble than to get you out of it.

He dropped the device, abandoning it on his desk as he started to pace back and forth. He had meant his words when he had described the idea of getting to know him as “frankly provocative”…even if perhaps it hadn’t been the _wisest_ choice of words. He didn’t deny the begrudging _fascination_ he had started to feel for the entity in the same moment when they had encountered him on their course towards Farpoint Station, and he would have lied if he had denied that the feeling hadn’t got stronger and stronger with every meeting-clashing they had had. Q had also quickly turned out to be anything but what you might have expected from someone who considered themselves so _superior_. Truth to be told he was a _pest_, irresponsible and definitely _not_ trustworthy. Or so he had seemed to be until he had _not_.

Picard almost scoffed at that thought. Q was a _trickster_ with little sense of self-restrain and a _pain_ in the back, and his own people seemed to think so too, but luckily or unluckily for humanity he was so much _more_ than that. For some mostly obscure reason, it appeared that the entity somehow reciprocated that very same _interest_ that Picard, as a human, had for his nature. Hard to figure out why someone, who had in more than one occasion compared himself to a _god_, would be _enticed_ by the beings he himself had defined as unworthy, inferior and boring. And even harder to grasp why one single individual of that same “pitiful species”, to use the entity’s own words, could attract so much of said being’s attention. He might not possess all the might and the knowledge of the Continuum, but the Captain wasn’t _stupid_. Besides, it really take little to understand that there _had_ to be a reason why Q kept returning to him, when he could have easily gone to torment anyone else in the universe, especially considering that half of the times he had come to mingle with Jean-Luc’s _personal_ affairs, unprompted and without any real need to do it.

The memory of the words that had passed between them after Q had been dumped, powerless, on his bridge popped in his mind. Of course, he still believed that in part he had come to the Enterprise to seek _protection_, but perhaps he had been a bit too hasty to dismiss his reasons just as that. Maybe the entity had meant it, in a way, when he had declared that Picard was the “closest thing to a friend” he had ever had, despite the animosity that the man had for him. After all, the other could have easily chosen another species, stronger, more advanced, one with a longer lifespan and better abilities to protect themselves. It had been extremely _confusing_ to see him in the shoes of the species he had so openly and constantly degraded and insulted. It was almost _ironic_, and Jean-Luc had agreed, for some time, but the adjective became less and less fitting when what had happened next was taken in consideration. From how _human_ Q’s almost sacrifice to protect the ship from the Calamarain had been, his gift to Data and the help he had offered, unasked, to fix their moon situation, to the fact that he had personally stuck his neck in the line to assist him, against the Continuum’s will, during humanity’s final trail.

A heavy breath escaped his lips as he realised that he had allowed his thoughts to drift far away from the point he had been trying to make. Namely the fact that Q was _not_ a friend, even though their relationship had become somehow friendlier with the years. He was hardly someone Picard admired, even if he couldn’t help feeling _wonder_, mixed with a _unique_ sort of irritation, every time he was faced with everything the entity knew and could do, or even with his contorted way of thinking and flexible gray morality. Respect was also _not_ a constant in their bond either, since, every time Q did something to gain his respect, he then contradicted himself and made sure to lose it. Jean-Luc had even wondered if he did it on purpose, reaching that conclusion that it might have not been so unlikely.

He stopped in front of the window, eyes seeking the stars for answers they couldn’t grant. Where did all that leave them standing with each other? Difficult to say. In the last dream, the entity had claimed that they had a _connection_, maybe a not so metaphorical one, which was _disturbing_, but, if he had to be honest with himself, it was also undeniable. Q might be the one who kept coming back to him, but he also managed to get under his skin as no one else could, as if he knew _exactly_ where the holes in his armour was. Or was it because _he_ allowed the entity to slip past it? After all, how many times he had thought, perhaps even _wished_, that the other was behind some particular absurd, elaborated situation he and his crew had found themselves in? He was always ready to yell at Q to get off his ship, and yet there was a part of him that _craved_ for more and more peeks into the mysterious, mostly incomprehensible world of his being. What did _that_ say about him? Didn’t it show that, deep down, he was prey of that same hubris Q had accused every human to have? Didn’t it prove how _reckless_ he was, under all the regulations and the restrains that he had given himself? Since he was unable to resist the magnetic pull the entity had on him?

Questions, questions, questions. Nothing but questions that brought him to doubt his self-image too much for his liking and that might have remained unanswered if he was never to see Q again. And that was the thought that led to his current, main doubt. Was all that turmoil born from the fact that he couldn’t wrap his mind around how a being who was supposed to be eternal _and_ omnipotent could _die_, fact that, if true, would have forced him to second-guess everything he had thought he had understood of the entity’s reality and, as a consequence, the considerations he had made concerning his own? Or was it, more simply and yet more _troubling_, that he wasn’t prepared to let Q disappearing from his life, when he…no, _they both_ still had so much to figure out about their contrasting relationship?

The glass felt cold under his fingertips as he pressed his hand against it. He had dreamt that night, mere images of his tormented subconscious he couldn’t even remember. However, as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t deny that, after so many shared nocturnal visions, the fruits of his own mind had left behind an odd sense of _loneliness_.

*********

Space felt, if possible, even colder than it had in his previous experiences. Or perhaps it was the barrier that had stood between him and the true strength of the physical sensations in the visions that had preceded the current one to have _thinned_, leaving him less shielded from the matrix of whatever was occurring around him. The borders of the black holes were less defined in his eyes, their presence seeming to disrupt his sense of dimensions even more than they usually did. He could almost feel the lack of gravity pushing against the physical confines of his body, threatening to crush it. As much as he knew that none of what he was experiencing was real, as the seconds went by, he found it harder and harder to keep the _dread _dripping down his spine at bait. There was something different in the whole fabric of the reality he had been shoved in. It felt _unstable_, for the lack of a better word, as if it had been on the verge of either exploding or collapsing on itself. No need to say that neither option was particularly appealing.

The air around him rattled this time when the black holes started to blast, the power of the supernovas shaking the void of space as if there had been actual air to move all around. He could _almost_ hear the sound of the explosions, even if his senses told him that, aside from the screams, there was no other noise breaking the icy silence of space. The vibrations were strong enough to make his mind fish among his memories and turn the shaking of his flesh into an auditory perception. Images over images piled up before his eyes, overlapping the vision he was witnessing. Buildings, starships, cities, whole planets being blown up into nothingness, the light of their blasts adding to the unbearable flares that were quickly eating away the blackness around him.

He raised a hand to shield himself from the blaze, or at least he tried to. One thing hadn’t changed from the previous dreams. In that stage of the vision he couldn’t tell if he could move or not, and not even if he had a body at all, despite the fact that he felt it. The light swallowed him, more quickly than the usual, and he actually felt a force shoving him down, or towards what he guessed was “down”. His body impacted with the ground harshly, knocking out of his lungs the breath he hadn’t needed till a moment before.

The explosions, though, didn’t stop. Jean-Luc hardly had the time to catch a glimpse of his surroundings before he found himself forced to roll over to avoid that a metallic plate fell right into his chest. His training automatically kicked in and in a heartbeat he was on his feet, eyes darting around to find the source of the danger. It didn’t come to him as easily as he would have liked and for a few, terrifying moments he stood in his spot, vision still blurred, unable to say if the world around him was moving or if it was just his head spinning. His guess was that both things were happening, but it was difficult to say when he could hardly keep himself steady. 

He blinked, trying his best to clear his sight, and his left hand moved around, trying to find something he could grip on. A vain effort and when the ground shook again under his feet, another explosion going off closer than the previous, he lost his already precarious balance and found himself rolling on the ground until he hit something _solid_. A wall, or maybe a rock considering how uneven the surface was. Half of his face was buried in something that felt like grass, so he had to be in a field of some sort. There was another sound echoing in the background, loud but distorted. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment, focusing on that detail, until he realised why it seemed familiar. It was one of Starfleet alarms, the evacuation signal, to be more precise. He had heard it plenty of times during emergency simulations, back at the Academy and also during drills as a junior officer. Quite some time had passed, but the sound had been designed appositely to be memorised and help triggering muscle memory.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up once again, this time more slowly, not wanting to worsen his disorientation. This time his eyes seemed to cooperate a bit better and soon enough he managed to put his surroundings into focus. He was looking at the garden of the Academy, or better at what was left of it. The building itself was half crumbled, smoke rising from the debris. The area seemed to be under attacked, phaser and disruptor blasts cutting through the air, leaving smoking holes in everything they touched. From what he could see, there seemed to be no order in the attack, as if the aim behind it was nothing but utter _destruction_.

He moved his gaze upward, trying to spot the attackers, but the sky was covered by clouds of smoke and whatever ship was up there was nothing but a thicker, mostly shapeless shadow. A few metres at his left, one of the few trees still standing exploded. There was no time to make sense of whatever the scenario might or might not mean. He had to find Q before he got himself killed. He had the feeling that this time it would have been particularly _painful_, so he had better get something out of the experience.

Sucking in a deep breath, he used the surface he had bumped into, which had turned out to be the remains of a wall and not a rock, to stand up and then took a moment to decide what direction he should take. The ground looked the same all around him, a field of burnt soil and ruins scattered all around, with the skeleton of what had once been the main building of the Academy right in the centre of that smoking hell. Picking a random path wouldn’t have worked, not that time, not when the situation was already so _unstable_. There had to be a way to figure out where he had to go. Perhaps he should have thought about where he would have headed in such circumstances. After all, while the entity might be shaping that reality, this was still _his_ mind, _his_ memories. Or maybe that was the _last_ thing he should have done, even if that alternative left him _helpless_ because it would have implied thinking like _Q_ and that was something he couldn’t do, not to that extent. If just…

It was then that it saw it and his mind instantly halted, abruptly abandoning that train of thoughts. There was something on the grass, shining even brighter than the explosion, almost _too_ bright to be anything that should have been on Earth. Without hesitation, he hurried towards it, kneeling down briefly just to confirm his suspicion…and his hopes too. It was a splash of that odd kind of liquid starlight that had been dripping out of the entity’s wounds in two of the previous dreams. There seemed to be a trail he could follow and, if the explosions hadn’t disrupted it too much, that could be his best shot at finding Q. He couldn’t help wondering, though, in what state the other would have been, considering that he would be following a trail of _blood_.

He shoved that thought away before it could get too deep inside his mind, deciding that he would deal with the situation only when he would have found himself face to face with it. He was in a _dangerous_ environment, that could have changed into something even _worse_ without notice. Better taking one step at a time.

The explosions continued as he made his way towards one of the corners of the park, keeping himself low and on constant guard to avoid being hit by the pieces of rocks that were blown off the ground. He had a couple of close calls when a beam passed right above him, hitting the spot where he had been just a few moments before, but what worried him the most was a whole different phenomenon. At first he had attributed it to his still not completely clear sight and to how everything around him shook every time a weapon hit its target, but soon he realised that it had nothing to do with the attack per se. Reality seemed to be _glitching_, like a malfunctioning holosuite would do, the fabric of the world around it blurring into pixels before blinking back to normal or almost. The distortions appeared randomly, but he had noticed that they were becoming more and more frequent, and it wasn’t hard to deduce that he was running out of time. It was as if that reality was starting to eat itself up and he didn’t want to stay there and watch as it got slowly consumed.

Finally, after endless minutes that felt like hours, he spotted a figure ahead of him. The traces of blood had got more consistent in the last few metres and that had to be another bad sign. Q was kneeling on the ground, his back at him, but it was easy for Picard to tell that it was him and not just for the outfit he had worn in every dream. Whether he liked it or not, he had memorised both the entity’s lines and features and his body language.

“Q!” He called out, breaking into a run. A reckless move perhaps, considering the literal hell that had been unleashed around them, but that war-like scenario had already consumed his patience and self-restraint. Even for someone who had found himself in similar situations before, who had been _trained_ to face that kind of scenarios, it could become hard to stay calm with so much adrenaline pumping in his veins. Especially in circumstances as _peculiar_ as the present ones. “What the devil is going on?!”

He wasn’t really expecting a reaction, since the entity had mostly ignored him or at least refused to have a real interaction in all the other dreams where he had looked delirious, so Jean-Luc was caught by surprise when a hand abruptly grabbed him as soon as he was at arm’s reach. He stumbled forward, unable to keep his balance, and ended up on his knees in turn. The fingers that were gripping at his wrist were covered in that black substance he somehow knew was dried blood and, when he lifted his head, he found that there were stains of it all over Q’s face, standing out against his deadly pale skin, like ink on a blank paper. However, this time too, the detail that captured most of Picard’s attention were the entity’s eyes. His pupils were once again blown up more than it should have been humanly possible and while being so close it was almost impossible to look away. He felt like he was about to be swallowed up by them and the prospect frightened even more than the dreadful sensation he had experienced in the void, at the beginning of the dream.

He opened his mouth to speak, without really knowing what he was about to say. All that mattered was to break that awful silence, so intense that it was muffling the sounds of the explosions all around them. However, he didn’t have the chance to spell out a single syllable because the grip on his arm tightened to the point of becoming _painful_ and he winced instead, words momentarily forgotten.

“I…I never meant for it to be _this_ bad,” Q muttered out, shaking his head even if his eyes remained locked in the Captain’s face. The fact that he wasn’t blinking at all made the look he was wearing even _creepier_. “This kind of chaos…This kind of destruction…This level of disruption is beyond what I expected to cause. Did Q know that _this_ would have happened? How could he do this to us? How could _I_ do this to us?”

“Q, you’re making no sense. _Again_,” Jean-Luc interjected before the entity could launch himself in a full monologue. His voice came out much firmer and steadier than he had expected, almost _commanding_, to the point that even Q blinked at him for a moment, his expression colouring with what might have been a hint of shock before returning to its distraught state. “_What_ have you caused? This…The scenes you’ve been showing me, these nightmares, they are some sort of representation, aren’t they? What are you trying to show me? I don’t understand.”

The entity finally released his arm in favour of throwing his own hands in the air, but he aborted the movement almost immediately, face contorting in an unmistakable expression of _pain_. Picard’s eyes dropped instantly where Q’s palm had pressed against his side. There was starlight pouring through fingers, making a striking contrast with the blackness of the dried blood that already painted his skin, dripping down in the burnt ground. It was only then that he realised that the other was covered with dirt, bruises and cuts, some of which were still bleeding, even if not as much as the one on his abdomen.

“You…You’re _injured_,” the Captain stuttered out, before he could stop himself. He was stating the obvious, and he felt a bit stupid about it, but the concept was almost irreconcilable with the idea that he had of that particular being. In his mind the entity was _untouchable_, unbothered by human realities as pain and tiredness, as misery and helplessness, as _death_. Q had declared that much on several occasions and he had also claimed that his people weren’t made to feel pain, when he had been made mortal as a punishment. And yet there he was, trapped in an agony that was both mental and physical.

His first instinct was to reach out and press his own hands against the wound, to try and stop the bleeding, but he halted at the thought that he had no idea of what effects the other’s blood might have on him. It could have been toxic or worse. It looked like liquid starlight, but what if it was exactly what it was? It could have burnt his whole being into atoms.

He shook his head, trying to rein in his thoughts before they went wild. This was a dream. _His_ dream, so he should have had some sort of control on his interactions with it. Besides, even if Q was injured in real life, this was a just projection of reality, which meant that it couldn’t truly harm him. It also meant that his attempts to help the entity would have been completely _futile_, but perhaps, if he couldn’t do anything for the physical wound, he might have offered something to ground him a bit.

“Q, look at me,” he tried again, tearing then entity’s hand away from the wound and replacing it with his own. He caught a glimpse of the injury, too quick to allow him to assess how bad it was, but enough to make him notice that it wasn’t too dissimilar from a phaser wound. The shining liquid instantly wetted fingers skin but didn’t burn, at all. On the contrary, it was almost _cool_ to the touch. It was a sensation unlike any other he had experienced before. If he had had to describe it in some manner, he would have said that it felt like cold _electricity_ running on his skin.

He bit the inner side of his cheek and forced himself to meet Q’s unfocused gaze. “Who did this to you?”

“I did,” was the answer, coming so quickly that one could have described it as prompt if the voice that had spoken it hadn’t been so shaky.

“You shot yourself?” Picard echoed, frowning in obvious confusion. He had seen enough wounds in his life and that reply didn’t make any sense. The angle was all wrong. Why was Q lying? Or hadn’t he understood what he had asked him?

The entity shook his head, teeth gritting with aggravation. “No. No. Q did, but…It was _me_. It’s _all_ on me. He was…We used to get along…_before_. Kind of. He understood my sense of humour, when most of the Continuum doesn’t. And now there’s nothing left of him. _Nothing_, Jean-Luc. After an eternity, he is…_gone_. Forever. A _real_ forever, one that won’t have an end this time.” He lifted the hand he hadn’t used to grip at his wound, fingers spread. The black stains covered the skin till halfway up his forearm. “I have his _blood_ on my hands! Literally _and_ metaphorically. And he’s not the only one. Not the first, not the last.”

If his fingers hadn’t been otherwise occupied, Picard would have sunk his face in his hands already. It was incredible how Q managed to be _obnoxious_ even in the pitiful state he was. Compassion and annoyance weren’t emotions that you often experienced together, and yet they were exactly what he was feeling in that moment. Trust that particular being to get on your nerves even when he wasn’t even trying.

The glitches in reality were getting larger and larger and now every blast of laser seemed to disrupt a piece of the scenario, leaving behind pure nothingness. A void not unlike the one in which his dreams started, but with no stars or odd black holes. If the fire hadn’t ceased, soon there would have been nothing left there.

“_Q_.” He spelled the single syllable with the same authority he used in his orders when someone tried to contradict him. He was starting to have an idea of what all that might be about, but there were still far too many things he couldn’t understand. One thing was clear, though. The deeper the entity slipped in his delirium the faster the world around them would have collapsed. As much as he didn’t wish to force the other away, back to the horrors that have managed to reduce him in such state, and he was starting to worry that they might have ended up trapped in the nothingness that would have followed. “End this. You’re out of control.”

Q’s fingers flew in his hair and pulled, so hard that, had he been human, he would have probably torn a few locks out of his scalp. “_I_ _can’t_! I…There is no stopping it. It’s too late, the conditions are unacceptable! We can’t go back to be how we were. It can’t be undone. They think we can, but they are _wrong_. For all our powers…There’s no restoring what was!” The volume of his voice was raising, bordering shouting, and his hands moved to press against his ears. “The screams, Jean-Luc, the screams! I can’t…I brought us into this, but I can’t stand it! Enough!” His eyes screwed shut. “Stop it, stop it! _Shut up_!”

His head snapped backwards, lips still parted as in a scream, but no sound left his throat. The air around them however shook, as if an earthquake had been shaking the sky, and Picard found himself staring with dreadful fascination while the by now familiar black holes started to rip the fabric of the heavens. And then he heard them again. The screams Q had mentioned. The same that had echoed in his previous nightmares, but louder, closer, even more heartbreaking than they had been. They seemed to be coming from those dark spirals as they collide one against the other, spat out together with that heavy mixture of emotions that had worn him down, night after night.

The Captain tried to look away, tried _hard_, but all his willpower wasn’t enough to tear his gaze away from the terrifying show, from the _battle_ raging above him. The fact that he couldn’t even completely comprehend what he was looking at only made it all worse, _paralysing_ him with the same uncertainty that had been haunting him in the last two days and that special brand of fear that you felt only when you were faced with all the destructive power that the Unknown could potentially have.

All of a sudden there were fingers digging in the flesh of his cheeks and temples, nails sinking deep enough to draw blood. His head was brusquely yanked down and turned, and he found himself mere inches away from Q, noses almost brushing. The entity’s eyes had turned once again in a pair of black holes and his figure was wavering, edges fading, confusing themselves with the blurred air that surrounded them. His skin too had become almost transparent, but underneath it, instead of muscles and bones and everything else he would have expected, there was the vastness of space, with its stars and planets, its galaxies and space anomalies.

The Captain’s breath got caught in his throat, threatening to suffocate him. Even if his form was still mostly humanoid, Q had never looked more _alien_ than he did in that moment and the _strangeness_ of the sight hit Picard at full force like a punch in the gut. He had never forgotten what the entity was, the other would have never allowed him to even if he had tried, but the familiarity of the looks he usually chose to maintain had lulled him into a sense of _false_ security. Now that the image was literally _crumbling_ before his eyes, it felt all too real for his mind to process it. Knowing was one thing, but witnessing even just part of it…It was too much.

“You have been at war, haven’t you, Jean-Luc?” Q spoke and his voice seemed to come at the same time from nowhere and everywhere, from all around them and from the depths of the Captain’s head. “You’ve killed people, of all kinds. You’ve killed your own people. I know you did, I was there when the Borg made you tear all those ships apart.” He didn’t laugh, he didn’t even stop talking, and yet the sound of an empty, crazed laughter echoed with every word he spoke. “So much destruction, all for nothing. At the time it seemed such a _waste_ to me, just another repetition of events the universe had already seen, with different characters. But now…Now it’s all different. Now I _understand_. The burden of it all, the taste, the reality.”

His grip on Picard’s face tightened even more and he stood, apparently effortlessly, forcing the man to stumble on his feet in turn. Instinctively, his hands let go of the wound he had been trying to keep pressure on and wrapped around then entity’s wrists, both for balance and in a vain attempt to tear his fingers away. If this had been real, he would have already had bruises. Shining blood fell on his uniform, quickly changing its colour and leaving black stains on it.

“Q!” He managed to get out, voice strained. It was hard to speak, held still as he was. “Stop it! Let me go!” And he didn’t mean just literally. He wanted to wake up, for that nightmare to end before it was too late.

“You’ve seen the misery and the death that wars bring, have lived through them,” the entity went on, deaf to his hurried orders. Above them, what was left of the sky was shattering, its fragments raining all around them. “But have you ever been forced to kill over and over something that’s also a part of _yourself_? I don’t think so.”

The ground under their feet split, long cracks opening and widening into gaping abysses. Jean-Luc let out a sound that was a mixture between a pained groan and a muffled desperate exclamation as, suddenly, there was nothing left under the soles of his boots and he gripped even harder at Q’s wrists, just to find that the flesh that had been so solid under his palms until a moment before was now suddenly as incorporeal as a mere hologram. Panic and confusion spread in his mind. The entity’s grip on his face was still iron, but for the rest he couldn’t find anything else to hold onto, no matter how hard he tried.

“Q,” he tried once more, this time his voice reduced to a quiet plea. He was _powerless_, at the complete mercy of a being he hardly recognised and he had no idea of what was to come and of how he could have even just attempted to control whatever would have happened to him.

“Au revoir, mon capitaine,” was all Q said, echoing the same parting words he had used in the previous dream. Then his touch disappeared completely and Jean-Luc found himself falling in the void.

A scream was torn out of his throat, out of surprise or out of fear or even out of rage. Hard to say. Perhaps a mixture of them all. His arms moved frantically, looking for a handhold that wasn’t there. His consciousness was fading too, as everything else, and every struggle to keep his focus had no effect on the darkness that was steadily clouding his thoughts.

Just before he fell into oblivion, he thought to have seen a figure raising in what was left of the sky that was now far, far away above him. Skin made of stars and empty space, eyes shining as supernovas, a cloud of white and bluish electricity all around it. And starlight, dripping from tears in the fabric of the universe.

*********

There were hands on him, trying to hold him down, restraining him. He wasn’t even sure of when the fall had ended, of where he had landed. His head hurt with raging confusion and his eyes couldn’t see, even if he couldn’t tell if it was because they were still shut or because he was still locked away in the dark void. There was pain coursing along his nerves, even if he wouldn’t have been able to tell where it came from. Perhaps the spots were Q had been holding him, perhaps from his own hands where his skin had touched the entity’s blood. Or maybe it was all in his mind, shaken by the _horror_ of visions he couldn’t fully comprehend.

He thrashed around, trying to get away from whoever was touching him. He didn’t know and in that moment it didn’t matter either. His priority was to break free before the darkness swallowed him again and kept him captive, helpless, in its depth. He wouldn’t have given up without a fight. He had to go back where he had come from. Away from the destruction, away from the blood, away from the screams and the stench of death. Just _away_. It had all been too much and he could already feel something inside him starting to crack. And if that had happened, there would have been no way to repair it. He had to…

“_Captain_!” A voice called out. A familiar voice that had nothing to do with the screams nor with Q or his visions in general. There was a deep concern in it, almost a hint of desperation. “Captain, you _must_ wake up!”

The blackness around him shook and it took him a moment to realise that it was because someone was shaking him. And, all of a sudden, he started to notice a whole series of other things. He was no longer suspended into nothingness, but there was what felt suspiciously like a bed under him. The air wasn’t as chill as it had been as destruction raged and everything was quiet, save from the low hum of the Enterprise’s systems. No screams, no shooting, no collapsing realities. And it wasn’t completely dark. The lights of his quarters were off, but he could still see the shapes of the furniture that surrounded him. And the shape of the woman standing above him.

“Oh, thank the gods, you’re awake, Captain!” Deanna exclaimed, her whole figure visibly relaxing as she helped him sitting up. “I warned you not to go too deep. I couldn’t wake you up. Or feel you properly. For a moment, I thought…”

Her voice trailed off and she shook her head, choosing to take a seat next to him instead. She looked pale and her agitation was still clear, even if her features had been completely engulfed by relief. It didn’t take Picard much to guess that he had to have done more than just thrashing in his sleep. Troi’s lodgings weren’t very close to his, so if she had come running to him alone, while everyone else was supposedly oblivious, surely he hadn’t woken her up because he had been screaming either. It had to have been something _worse_ than that.

“It wasn’t me. I tried to break away from the dream, but I…couldn’t. Q was keeping me there, even if I’m not sure that he knew what he was doing,” he tried to explain, but it was hard, since he himself didn’t fully grasp what had been going on either. “He was out of control. In pain, physically wounded, I think. In whatever way a Q can be physical at least.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know if I can describe what I saw. Or make really sense of it.”

He paused, reaching out to squeeze her arm, trying not to admit that the gesture was meant to comfort him as much as it was done to reassure her. “You were right, Deanna, since the start. He _is_ in trouble. There’s some kind of…war he’s fighting, and I think he had something to do with starting it, but…well. He wasn’t making much sense this time either.” He rubbed his brows with his free hand. “What brought you here?”

The Counsellor opened her mouth, but she seemed to change her mind before she could speak a single word. Her fingers fell on the top of his, still shaking slightly but warm. She was still affected by everything she had perceived and the little her commanding officer had just told her started to explain why. No finite being would have been able to generate such a powerful wave of mental energy and in fact it hadn’t come from one.

“I felt…a surge of emotions rushing through the ship,” she eventually began, brows knitted together as she tried to find the right words. “It woke me up abruptly. At first I thought I had had a nightmare myself, but then I realised that the emotions were still there, still coursing, so strong that I truly feared that the ship was under attack. Anger, desperation, loss, terror. They were…_overwhelming _and I failed in shutting them out. So I decided to follow them and…imagine my shock when I got at your door and realised that they were coming from your quarters.”

“What you felt were…my emotions?” Jean-Luc questioned, openly taken aback. The dream had been devastating and stunningly real, but he could conceive that he might have been affected by it to that point. He recognised the feelings that Deanna had listed, he had felt them too, but they hadn’t truly been his own. Not completely. Unless…

“No. I mean…they were coming from you, but, no offence, Captain, your mind is too limited to create such a powerful energy,” the woman replied, echoing the thought that had just struck him. “That’s the reason why I thought they came from a _crowd_, even if, at the same time, their…signature was too similar not to belong to a single individual. I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”

“I think I understand. Basically, you’re telling me that I was…channeling Q’s feelings through whatever connection allows him to come and bother me in my sleep,” Picard offered and sighed when he saw her nodding. “I know that it’s not really my fault, but I apologise, Deanna. It wasn’t my intention to scare you in such a way. And thank you for…helping me waking up. I wasn’t in a good place.” Then his lips twitch upwards slightly. “So, you too think that my mind is _limited_?”

The still lingering worry in Troi’s features relaxed at the small joke. “I’m afraid I _might_ be channeling Q too, Captain,” she quipped back, before her expression turned serious once again. “And you have _nothing_ to apologise for. And I don’t think I’ve done anything to help either. I…It’s just that, as I said, when I first came in here I couldn’t sense you. Or rather, I could, but you were so wrapped in those emotions, in this…vast presence that I thought I wouldn’t be able to find you again. Then Q must have let go because you resurfaced. I can’t say if he did it willingly or if the connection just broke for some reason.” She licked her lips slightly. “You mentioned a war?”

He nodded. “Or at least that’s what I grasped from his words. He was bordering _delirious_. But in the dream I was in the middle of a battle,” he replied, with just the slightest hint of hesitation. “I think the Continuum has started some sort of civil war and Q is responsible for one of the factions. Or something of the sort.” He frowned slightly, trying to put some order in the memories of the vision. “He mentioned another Q. Well, two others. The one who injured him, the one he _killed_, and the other…I’m not sure. But I think he had something to do with starting the conflict in the first place too.”

“It must be terrible, to truly face the concept of death for the first time in…forever,” Deanna mumbled, almost speaking to herself. “No wonder he felt so _distraught_. It’s a set of emotions I can’t even start to process.” Her expression then turned stern. “As much…compassion I’m brought to feel, this _cannot_ continue, Captain. Your mind isn’t made to cope with this kind of…intensity. This time you got lucky. No, you’ve been lucky till now because Q has been able to shield you, but today he slipped, and just _slightly_. If he really was to lose control, he would probably _destroy _you. This connection cannot continue.”

Jean-Luc was slightly taken aback by the determination that had filled her tone. The entity’s might have not meant for it to be, but the woman was making it clear that their dream encounters were becoming a problem. A _threat_. To him, but most likely to whoever was around him in turn. The rational part of him agreed with her with no hesitation, but there was another that didn’t feel right with denying Q the refuge he had _desperately_ been asking for, even if never openly.

“What do you propose we do, Counsellor?” He questioned, much more calmly than he had expected to be. Perhaps because he knew that there wasn’t much to be done. “We’re talking about an almost _omnipotent_ being. How are we supposed to stop him when he has always been able to do almost everything he wanted without effort?”

As expected, Deanna found herself at loss of words for a few moments, struggling to find an answer that didn’t exist. “We could try to shield you somehow. At least to make it harder for him to come to you,” she eventually said, but she herself sounded like she didn’t truly believe in her own words. “There are some techniques we can use. I can contact some people I know on Vulcan. Or my mother. And there are people who have developed technology to protect themselves from telepaths. Maybe he will…” 

“Take the hint and choose to leave me alone?” The Captain finished for her with a scoff. “That doesn’t sound much like Q to me.” He raised a hand. “I’m not trying to shoot down your suggestions, Deanna. They are good ones and I’d be ready to try them…if we were dealing with anyone else. But you know as well as I do that nothing of the sort would work.”

She stood up and started to pace around the room. It was weird to see her so _agitated_, but those emotions were still echoing inside her and it was taking all the self-control she had not to tear up. There was so much more she had felt, so much more she couldn’t have explained. She had never particularly liked Q, even if she had never despised him either. She had started to develop a certain appreciation for him, even if she had avoided to mention it, once she had realised that, under all his jesting and insults and devious behaviour, there were actually _good_ intentions, especially when it came to her Captain. She had even felt his presence lingering around a few times, briefly and almost imperceptible, without him materialising. Almost as if he had been there, watching over them.

She stopped by the desk and rested her palms on it, suddenly exhausted. Feeling so much pain, mental suffering, coming from the entity…She wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, no matter their crimes. And Q didn’t really deserve that much in any case, at the end of the day. However, as much as she wished she could help him too, her priority was Picard. And if protecting him meant forsaking the entity, that would have been her choice.

“What do _you_ have in mind, Captain?” She asked in the end, turning her deep dark eyes back on the man. “Or do you really think that there’s nothing we could try?”

Jean-Luc hesitated for a moment. He had the feeling that Deanna wouldn’t have liked his idea, but, thankfully, she wasn’t Beverly or Will. She would have supported him, even if she didn’t agree. She was always ready to assume everyone else’s point of view, if she felt that it was worth it and if she trusted their judgment enough. Hopefully, she hadn’t come to the conclusion that his could be unpaired yet.

“I want to try to _talk_ to him. Make him understand that the situation has got out of hand,” he answered in the most serious of tones. It wasn’t much and it was _dangerous_, because it meant allowing himself to be dragged back into the entity’s impetuous mind, but he was utterly convinced that it was the _best_ chance they had. “Q said that he means no harm and, while he might be unreliable and a menace, next kin to chaos if you ask me, he’s not a liar. And I don’t think that he’ll drag me into his war, risking getting me killed too. He is one of the most selfish creatures I’ve met…till he’s not. He must be aware of where this is going.”

Troi stared at him with her eyebrows slightly raised, not fully convinced. “You think he’ll stop just because you _ask_ him to?” She asked, reaching out to play with a lock of ebony hair. “I wish I could tell you that I don’t think that sounds like Q either, but since it would be coming from _you_…It might work. And I agree on one thing. He is very _honest_, for a trickster. He omits at times, but never openly lied about his intentions. Or anything else. Not unless the Continuum was forcing him to.” She let out a small huff, but then she seemed to reluctantly make up her mind. “It might be worth a try. Even if I have my reserves, Captain.”

“I’ll take note of them, Counsellor,” he conceded, standing up in turn and making his way towards her. “For what it’s worth, I’ll be careful. And we don’t have much to lose. Moreover, the last time Q pushed it too far, his words, he realised it and apologised, in his own way. I’m inclined to believe that he’ll do the same time this too. He’ll most likely wait for a better time to contact me and that should allow a proper conversation. I can’t be totally sure that he will comply, but he will listen.”

The woman nodded again, looking less skeptical. “I hope you’re right. For everyone’s sake. Yours before anything else.”

“Me too, Deanna, me too.”

They remained quiet for a few moments, letting the words linger in the air between them. Eventually, it was Jean-Luc to once again break the silence, inviting the Counsellor to go back to her room and rest. She was reluctant to leave him alone at first, but it didn’t take her long to catch up with the fact that it was exactly what he needed too in that moment, so eventually she wished him goodnight and left. If her gaze lingered on him, with both concern and compassion, he chose not to acknowledge it. Instead, he ordered a cup of tea from the replicator and sat on the couch, looking out of the window, towards the quiet stars.

The heat of the cup in his hands grounded him, keeping his mind from slipping away, as he contemplated what he had grasped from the vision. It had certainly answered a few of his doubts, made him realise, just as Q himself had to have learnt _very_ recently, that everything could come to an end, even _forever_. And once again it was _death_ to make everyone equal, in a way that was as _terrifying_ as it was _humbling_. Just as the ancient myths had always proclaimed. Gods and mortals fell alike. The difference was that, while the latter were always aware, to an extent, that their lives were fated to fade, the formers were caught completely off guard.

Death was also _troublesome_, for many reasons, even when you weren’t the one fated to meet it personally. Among the other things, it brought up inconvenient realisations, truths that should have remained ignored and unacknowledged for the mere reason that it was _easier_ that way. And he found himself to having to admit that all his distress was hardly prompted by the fact that some of his beliefs had been shaken by the new light that had been shone upon the meaning of immortality and eternity. It was all personal and it was all _selfishly_, based on the fact that he wasn’t immune to the _flattery_ linked to Q’s odd obsession with him. If he had tried hard enough, he could have managed to persuade the entity to bend time and space and everything in between and beyond for him. The other had even made such an offer a few times, even if he had refused it. However, just because he had always resisted it, it didn’t mean that the temptation wasn’t there.

Picard let his head fall backwards slightly, his eyes fleeing on the ceiling. The truth was that he would have regretted not giving in, not even once, if he had never seen Q again. He had always unconsciously assumed that the other would have been there _forever_, that he would have waited as long as it was needed for the right moment to come. It was astonishing, the _arrogance_ of such a concept. Exactly because the entity was eternal and mostly almighty, he could have got tired of him in every moment, found someone else more worth of his interest. As capricious as Q was, it would have been the most logical conclusion. And yet the idea had _never_ touched him, as, even more absurdly, it seemed to have never come to _Q_ either, considering that the latter had chosen him, of all beings, and his mind, of all places, as _sanctuary_. What he couldn’t grasp was _why_.

He reached out and rubbed his forehead. There it was, the usual, special migraine that every Q-related matter brought him, blooming in his skull. Perhaps it was true that some questions had better stay unanswered, but he was, before anything else, an explorer and he wasn’t used to give up on mysteries, even if he was conscious that he wouldn’t have been able to find a reply to everything. It wasn’t, though, a good reason not to keep trying.

“You’ve better _not_ be dead, Q,” he muttered to himself, raising the cup to his lips. “There is still too much we need to settle. Too many explanations you _owe_ me.” His voice grew even quieter. “Too many debts _I_ need to repay.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _29/02/2020: Chapter 4 reviewed and corrected._ This chapter was a mess, I'm glad I finally had the chance to fix it!

A week went by. The Enterprise was assigned to an exploration mission and sent travelling towards a sector of the Alpha quadrant, just a few of light years away from the borders of Federation space, that still hadn’t been properly charted. Hours ticked by between reports, sensor scans, teams being assembled and beamed down on the three M-class planets they had found. The ship was buzzing with constant activity, as it always did whenever the chance of new discoveries was in the air. The general mood seemed to inspire productivity and all Departments, even the ones not directly involved in the mission, had launched themselves in a new wave of experimentation, perfecting the already existing systems and trying to push the efficiency levels. One just needed to sit in Ten Forward and listen to the ongoing conversations or count the ever-present PADDs to get an idea of the high spirits of the crew were.

Picard had to admit to himself that it was a lucky coincidence. The general atmosphere and the continuous flood of reports that required his attention were perfect distraction from the static wait that had been forced on him, leaving him on the edge with the knowledge that it most likely was the deceiving calm before yet another storm. He had even managed to talk Riker into letting him joining one of the away teams, reassuring his First Officer that he would have been perfectly safe and that it wouldn’t be breaking any kind of protocol. The walk he had taken had definitely helped him both stretching his legs and soothing his nerves. Touching the real world outside the confinements of the ship, feeling the light of the planet’s star on his skin, the dirt under his boots, the slightly chilly air and the alien scent of the atmosphere…They had effectively taken his mind off the dream universes that had occupied it far too often lately.

However, it was also to be said that, despite the ever growing anticipation, the more time passed, the _easier_ it became for him to talk himself into believing that his initial guess had to be right and that Q was probably waiting for things to calm down before making his next appearance. He had actively worked to discard all the other possibilities, at least for the moment. There was no need to torment himself with what-ifs, not while he had no reason to foresee the worse.

He had the feeling that he had Deanna Troi to thank for most of the so many diversions that filled his days, including his Number One’s capitulation. The Counsellor had been watching him like a hawk since the night he had woken up and found her in his lodgings, distressed and concerned beyond words. Even though he considered her worries _excessive_, he couldn’t blame her for wanting to keep an eye on him after what had happened.

After all, he would have lied if he had said that, even without the nightmares, his sleep had truly got better. He managed to rest more than he had in the previous weeks, but, unfortunately, in his nights he didn’t have all the distractions that were offered to him while he was awake. During those quiet hours, his subconscious tended to dwell among all the thoughts, all the scenarios and all the possibilities he succeeded in keeping at bay during the day. He always woke up with a sense of confusion or even of _failure_, and at times he had jolted awake with his hands stretched out, as if he had been trying to desperately reach for something. _Answers_, most likely, the ones that he couldn’t achieve on his own.

He hadn’t told Troi about his slightly tormented sleep, until one night she had caught him red-handed, rummaging through Starfleet’s archives well past his bed time, looking for anything that might have been connected to the conflict Q had mentioned about. He doubted that the Continuum would have dragged its war to their universe, or to any other as a matter of fact, not with how private and mysterious they tended to be, but he had decided that checking couldn’t have hurt. Besides, he had been in need of something that could occupy his hands, since he hadn’t been able to fall asleep. Deanna had given him a look that said every possible word that could have ever been spoken on the topic of developing unhealthy obsessions, but then she had sat down and had started to help him in his search.

As expected, they hadn’t found anything, even after having sat by the console until they had checked every available database with the computer’s help, but the company had been extremely _comforting_. All considered, despite the lost sleep, those had been the best hours of rest he had got since the start of that mess. Perhaps that was why, when a couple of days later Deanna had asked if she could join him for a cup of tea at end of the shift, he had agreed and invited her to his quarters. For once, none of them had mentioned the metaphorical elephant in the room and, instead, their small talk had turned into a quite interesting discussion on Vulcan philosophy that had held the Captain’s attention better than any book could have.

“It’s getting late. I should go,” the woman stated, setting down her empty cup. “According to the information we have, the next planet we’ll reach is inhabited and my abilities might be required. And you, Captain,” her tone thickened slightly as she spelled out his rank, “will need to stay focused.”

“Of course, Counsellor,” Jean-Luc replied, standing him in turn to walk her to the door. “Thank you for the company. I hope we’ll have another chance to resume this conversation. There are a few other topics on which I’d like to hear your opinion.”

“I’m sure the occasion will come up,” she reassured with a small smile as the automatic door slid open. “Goodnight.” She took a step into the corridor, but then she immediately turned back to look at him and added: “And good luck.”

Picard was caught off guard by those last sudden three words and left speechless for a moment too long, allowing her to turn on her heels and head down along the corridor, taking away any chance he might have had asking what she had meant. Perhaps it was just a generic wish, nothing he should be concerned about, even if his instinct told me that there was much more to it. _Odd_, though. Even admitting that something would have happened that night, she couldn’t have known of it in advance, could she?

******* **

An hour of tossing and turning in his bed later, Picard was forced to reach the conclusion that, no matter how _absurd_ it might have been, Deanna had to have known, because, when he finally managed to fall asleep, he found himself back in the void of space, black holes already forming all around him. However, his priority, now that he had been dragged back in the dream universe, was to give a try to the plan the two of them had agreed on, so the matter of how the woman had managed to predict that turn of event was set aside for a later time.

That dream too, as the one that had preceded it, felt _different_, but it took him a few seconds to notice what exactly had changed from the previous visions. Until that moment, he had always been floating in open space as some kind of solid _presence_, unable to move and without any indication that he possessed a corporation of any sort, while this time he had his own body and seemed to be in control of all his limbs. He lifted a hand to his face and flexed his fingers with a hint of surprise, feeling as if he were seeing them for the very first time, and he would have probably checked all the rest of his limbs if a sudden flash of light coming from next to him hadn’t distracted him from his exploration.

Q had materialised beside him, sitting upside down, arms and legs crossed and a small frown on his face. For once, the entity seemed to be unharmed and, if not for the fact that he was wearing what appeared to have become his usual outfit of the period, he wouldn’t have looked any different from how he had during his past visits on the Enterprise. Even his eyes were normal, pupils not dilated and gaze fully focused. It might have not been much, but Jean-Luc felt _relieved_. Not only the other was alive, but for once he was in one piece too, mind and body.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that I _might _owe you an explanation,” Q started, his tone tinged with reluctance. “As much as I don’t like the idea of going over this mess once again, it seems that I have to, since I more or less accidentally dragged you into it. Especially after my…ah, _erratic_ behaviour of…How long has it been for you?”

“A couple of weeks,” the Captain replied, his eyes moving between the being next to him and the scenery before them. Somehow, this time the vision felt more obviously _unreal_, as if he had been watching it through a screen instead of being immerged in the scenario. “And yes, I believe that I’ve _earned_ the right to know at least the general picture, after everything you’ve put me through, Q.”

That last sentence gained him a brief glare and the entity’s lips curled in a light frown. “Don’t push your luck, Picard. I can still decide that I don’t want to do this, send you back to your little ship and leave you in the dark forever,” he threatened, not even trying to hide his displeasure. He would have very much liked to say that he owed the man _nothing_, but the truth was that he did, and more than the human could have ever imagined.

“This,” he resumed, opening his arms as to embrace the space all around them, “is the most faithful representation of the events that your _puny_ mind can comprehend and accept. Were I to show you the real thing, how_ I_ see it, you’d probably go _crazy_. If not worse.” He paused for a moment, as if he had been considering something. “Scratch that. _Definitely _much, much worse than mere insanity.”

Picard rolled his eyes at him, but decided not to retort. The temptation was _very _strong, because it was how their dynamics usually worked, but he didn’t wish to give the other any excuse to avoid delivering the explanation he had promised. “How _generous_ of you to put so much effort just to spare my puny mind,” he simply replied, letting the sarcasm in his tone expressing all the other thoughts he had chosen not to voice on the phrasing the entity had used. “What am I exactly looking at?”

Q offered him another withering look, but then he shifted, his body rotating until he was sitting upwards. “The first conflict the Continuum has ever experienced in billions of years,” he replied, matter-of-factly. His tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but his expression had darkened, betraying a hint of his real feelings. “A civil war. And…” His voice faltered for an instant. “And it’s all on me, for the most. I started it.” He straightened his shoulders and licked his lips, quickly collecting himself. “It quite simple, really. Even an inferior being like you should be able to understand it without effort. There. Q,” he pointed one of the black holes, “and dead Q.” His index moved on one of the supernovas that were starting to blast around them. “You see, it’s a chain reaction. Destruction spreading inside the Continuum. One first, _spontaneous_ death triggers all the others.”

Jean-Luc watched, forcing himself not to interrupt, even if he already had a million questions pressing against his lips, demanding to be let out. Despite the collected attitude, the entity was clearly on the edge. It was evident in the small, oddly _human_ details. The way his shoulders were stiff despite his almost slouched posture, the dark lines under his eyes, the way his fingers kept twitching. Q was a walking bomb, ready to go off, just as he had been in each of their dream encounters. The only difference was that, this time, he was doing a much better job at hiding it, which hopefully meant that he would have been able to keep in control.

“You seem…very _calm _about this,” he pointed out, in a cautious tone. He was itching to pressure for more details, but he was very much aware that would have been the wrong move. “Especially compared to what happened two weeks ago.”

The entity muttered something under his breath, most likely some kind of curse, and then his shoulders curved inwards, as if he had been trying to collapse on himself. “I should have never come to you in _that_ state. It was a mistake and a _dangerous_ one. I was wounded, and they were chasing me. I could have wrecked your mind to the point that _nothing_ would have been left of it. I even…lost control of this shape.” He shook his head. “As you can imagine, there is a reason why we don’t show mortals our real forms. It’s well past your understanding.”

“Let me guess. It’s another of those things that would do worse than driving me insane if I were to witness it,” the Captain offered with a small huff, even if deep down he couldn’t help thinking that it was a real pity. Having a chance to gaze at Q in his true form…He wasn’t even sure of what to imagine. One more reason why he found the idea beyond _fascinating_. “I did…see something. Your eyes, they turned into something like those black holes and then…into stars. The brightest I’ve ever seen. And your whole form…” He waved a hand, not sure of how he could have described it. “It was like watching the universe compressed and shaped into the facsimile of a human body.”

“That’s because it’s what we Q are, in a way. Our essence exists outside this reality, but our powers are intrinsically woven into its matter,” the entity explained, but he was already waving a dismissive hand. “And that’s the easy, mostly _metaphorical_ way to put it. The truth is much more complicated and, again, nothing you would ever comprehend.” He gave the Captain a look that clearly commanded him to drop the subject. “Back to what I was saying. I’m…better now. I’ve healed from my injuries and…” He cleared his throat and glanced away, his expression half way between embarrassment and disgruntlement. “When I went back, Amanda slapped some sense into me. Quite _literally_. That child has even more potential than I had initially thought. I’m glad she’s one of mine.” His mouth curled in a few ways before he continued. “She reminded me that I have responsibilities to attend to and that I can’t even think about running away from…_this_.”

His gaze moved back to the accelerating sequence of explosion and Jean-Luc felt compelled to do the same. Had the circumstances been different, he would have found the idea of Amanda slapping Q in the face quite _hilarious_, but the situation was too serious to allow any sort of joke. That didn’t stop his lips from twitching slightly. If the entity noticed, he didn’t mention it, also because he seemed to have decided that he had had enough of their current setting and snapped them away before the blasts could reach them.

A moment later, Picard found himself sat on what looked like an asteroid, at the inner border of the belt it belonged to, facing the centre of a binary star system. Between them and the two suns there were a couple of planets, one of which might have been able to support life, judging by the visible atmosphere that surrounded it. He tried to look around, to catch his bearings, but the stars he could glimpse in the background were completely unfamiliar.

“Don’t strain your brain, mon capitaine,” Q’s voice reached him, sharper than a poke in the ribs. “This isn’t even your galaxy. There’s nothing you can recognise here.”

Jean-Luc felt equally amazed and irritated, the two feelings clashing with confusion in his chest until he made a conscious effort to dismiss them. Technically speaking, they weren’t even in this alien galaxy the entity had chosen to project, because they were still confined inside his own mind. And, as much as he would have liked to forget the reasons that had brought them there and just allow the other to tell him the stories of the beings that lived in that part of the universe, he couldn’t abandon his real aim.

“It doesn’t mean I can’t look around, does it?” He snapped back anyway, just to let Q know that he was getting plenty on his nerves, despite his predicament, and that his lack of annoyed reactions was him trying his best to be _accommodating_ in turn. “So, how did you…”

He paused for a moment, considering his words. He didn’t want to mention the civil war by calling it with its proper name, since the other seemed, understandingly, pretty _sensitive_ on the subject, but he doubted that he would have got a more favourable reaction if he had asked how he had ended up in “that mess”. There wasn’t a neutral term to describe the situation, but he wanted to avoid giving it a _completely_ negative connotation. The entity had defined it as a “disruption” of the previous balance of the Continuum, so…

“How did you end up starting a revolution?” He opted to ask in the end, turning to look once again at the being sat next to him.

One would have expected to see Q sprawled on the ground, or at least sitting with his legs outstretched, leaning on his arms. Instead his knees were drawn to his chest, arms around them. It was the most _defensive_ posture Picard had ever seen him assuming. Not even when he had been turned human, as frightened and insecure as he had been, Q had so visibly, so _physically_ retreated into himself. His eyes were fixed on the two stars that dominated that stellar system, but it was impossible to say what he was truly seeing. If Jean-Luc was to take an educated guess, he would have been ready to bet that he was reliving his last battle. Or perhaps thinking about how things were before the destruction began.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Q huffed, but he turned his attention away from whatever he had been contemplating. “But, for once, I must agree with your inferior perception. We don’t have much time left. Meaning that I don’t have all the time of the universe right now. I…I’m needed elsewhere.”

The tone in which he spoke the last few words made it clear that he had no real will to go back where he should have been, but there was also a strained determination that said that he would have gone anyway, no matter if it was against his whole being. It was a side of the entity that Jean-Luc wasn’t used to see, perhaps because it didn’t often emerge, or maybe because he usually hid it behind some jester act. It was the same part that had pushed him to take humanity’s side in more than one occasion, in more than one way. A hint of order and moral principles in a creature who usually thrived in chaos and absence of any moral compass.

“I said that this is all on me, but…That’s not exactly true. Another Q started it, centuries ago,” the entity resumed, turning his eyes away once again. His voice was unusually quiet, but in the silence of space every word was perfectly audible. “He tried to kill himself, back then, more than once and with _disastrous_ results, and for that reason the Continuum locked him away. You see, Jean-Luc, death is something my people have ceased to contemplate _billions_ of years ago. Immortality is one of the traits that defines a Q as…well, _Q_. Having one of us not just speaking about death but embracing it with eagerness, being ready to take his own life…It was _unthinkable_. Everyone assumed that he had lost his mind, but the truth was that he had been ready to do something no one else among us dared to. Namely, being _honest_, condemning a reality we all had been aware of for millennia and actually doing something about it.”

He let out a scoff, but the sound carried only bitterness and no trace of amusement. “He said _I_ inspired him, back when he first started to cultivate those mad ideas! _I_ made him realise how _stagnant_ the Continuum had become, how the undeviation and the continuity of the Q had turned into an _illness_, instead of being a virtue. My behaviour, my refusal to bow to our rules, my unrelenting search for amusement and the reckless way in which I used my power. My constant mingling with the material universe.” The way Q had looked at him while speaking those words, his voice laced with _admiration_…Something no other Q had ever seemed to feel towards him. It had both filled him with a new kind of pride and made him want to run away screaming. “I never told you this, but that behaviour of mine is the reason why I was assigned to humanity in the first place. The Continuum thought that forcing me to deal with you mortal beings on a regular basis would have bored me and eventually killed my…_fixation_ for them. Useless to say, their plan backfired, because not only I didn’t got tired of it in the least, but then I met _you_ and it got even worse.”

Picard found that he couldn’t decide whether he should have felt flattered or worried by that last admission. The tone that the entity had used had sounded almost _resentful_, which couldn’t have been a good sign. However, Q also seemed determined to go on with his tale, without lingering on the details, and so he chose, once again, not to interrupt or make unnecessary comments. They were still walking on thin ice and, now that he had an idea of what he would have found if the ground had cracked under his feet, he didn’t wish to have another taste of it.

“This is irrelevant right now, though. Back to the matter at hand…Long story short, Q was accidentally released from his confinement and asked asylum on a space vessel. They sent me after him, to bring him back to the Continuum so that he could be caged again, but things didn’t go as planned. The mortals he had turned to insisted on having a _trial_, to determine whether to grant him asylum or not and certain…terms were laid on the table. If the mortals had ruled in favour of the Continuum, Q was to come with me and offer no opposition when being returned to his prison. If they were to rule in his favour, I’d have to make him mortal, so that he could get the chance to end his life.”

Of all the beings who could have run into the comet where Q was held, _humans_ being responsible of that chance encounter had been the last thing he had expected. And Captain Janeway…He would have lied if he had said that she hadn’t reminded him of Picard. Less quick to temper, more inclined to play along with him, but not less headstrong or more susceptible to his games. She had stood against him just as the man next to him had so many times. The difference was that dealing with her had never felt as _personal_ as mingling with Jean-Luc did. A small difference, but a _very_ meaningful one.

“Let me guess,” the Captain cut in crossing his arms on his chest. His lips were threatening to curve in a small smirk, that should have been enough to tell the entity that he had guessed exactly how the story ended. Despite the grave themes, the tale was intriguing and he couldn’t help picturing the debate in his mind. The request of a single individual, demanding his right to live, or in this case to _end_, his life as he wished, following his own rules and principles, against the will of the community he belonged to, a community that would have been completely shaken, down to its very foundations, by the single act that Q believed it was his right to perform. He saw the dilemma, and perhaps he could start grasping why it might have brought so much chaos inside the Continuum. Change always did and the unknown, as he had been brought to consider many times in the last couple of weeks, was one of the _scariest_ things one could face. “You _lost_ the trial.”

“I’ll let you know that I got this close to winning,” Q instantly retorted in an offended tone, bringing his thumb and index just a few millimetres apart. “I _almost_ had them convinced, but…Yes, I lost the trial. And I was forced to grant Q mortality.”

If he had to be honest, after their little trip in the Continuum, he had been almost _hoping_ for such an outcome, even if it was something he had never even just thought that he would have desired. A defeat, a failure. And yet, in the light of what Q had said, in front of his determination to carry out his plan, no matter the consequences, he had found himself _charmed_, utterly fascinated by the idea of a change that could bring new lymph to his people, new excitement. A _cure_ for the endless boredom that had pushed him to seek novelty in that universe. He had ended up staying for other, unrelated reasons, but it didn’t change the fact that, deep down, he was still wishing that things could be different, that the _Continuum_ could be different. Q had given him a chance, an opening, and he had jumped, without even thinking of what he could have found on the other side.

“The mortals tried to persuade him to stay with them, to become part of their society, but he felt that he couldn’t have fitted in it, even if he had tried,” he finished, his voice slowly becoming as distant as his gaze. “I gave him a rare poison, one without an antidote, so that he couldn’t be treated.” He rolled his eyes. “I know what you’re thinking, Jean-Luc. ‘Really, Q? _Assisted suicide_? After you had already failed your task? That’s too much even for you!’. And I assure you that, when they had sent me after Q, I would have _never_ thought that I would have ended up doing such a thing. Nor disobeying the Continuum’s orders, _again_, and especially…start a war.” The sound that escaped his throat conveyed the deepest kind of incredulity. “A _war_! In the Continuum! _Me_? I…I still have troubles believing it. But…He called me irrepressible, when _he_ was the truly irrepressible one. He had more guts than I could ever hope so and…I felt like I _owed_ him. That I owe him to be myself again. And what I am isn’t compatible with the Continuum’s current rules and lifestyle. Shockingly enough, it turned out that I wasn’t the only one to think so, just the only one _crazy_ enough to stand up and say it. And here we are. Civil war. Patriots of change versus the status quo.”

“And here we are indeed,” Jean-Luc offered in the calmest tone he was capable off. Q’s voice was raising and he was starting to gesticulate. Had they been in a normal situation, he wouldn’t have seen any reason to worry, because that was the usual level of restlessness the entity showed. However, that situation was anything _but_ normal. The other had been so _quiet_, so tense and subdue since the very start of their interactions. A sudden increase in his body language could only indicate that Q was growing more and more agitated. And he couldn’t have _that_, not when he was finally getting the answers he had been looking for. “If you care for my honest opinion…I’m not surprised to know that _you_ were the one to turn the Continuum upside down. I can’t claim to know you as well as I’d like to, but every time we met, you somehow managed to shake my existence, and the one of every single member of my crew too. So…I guess that, in my mind, that’s what you are. Some sort of…_earthquake_ that leaves evident marks in the life of whoever you touch. Assuming that said someone survives it.”

“Is this about those eighteen people who got killed during your first clash with the Borg _again_?” The entity asked, a spark of real irritation touching his dark eyes. He raised a hand to prevent Picard from replying. “Yes, yes, yes. I know what you think about that. You’ve already _lectured_ me. But I’d like to remind you that, if I hadn’t shown you whom you were dealing with, you would have _never_ figured out what was lurking at the edges of your borders. Nor you would have had the slightest idea of how to deal with them. So I did you a _favour_, all things considered, even if I wasn’t supposed to let you know. It didn’t hurt that I gave you a lesson on arrogance too, while I was at it.”

The Captain’s eyes hardened. He had promised himself to be patient with Q, considering the circumstances, but that was a very _thorny_ subject for him. Memories, events and the intense, contrasting emotions they brought him, most of which he hadn’t truly digested yet. Having them shoved in his face with such an evident lack of touch, as if they hadn’t been important, used as an excuse to _boast_…It rub him in all the wrong ways, sending hot sparks of anger and regret blossoming in his chest.

“The loss of those people was much larger than those eighteen lives that were sacrificed for…almost _nothing_. They aren’t just eighteen deaths that could have been avoided. They had family, friends, people who cared for them. People who have suffered and who are most likely still suffering for their loss. I know that it must be difficult for you to understand it, Q, but when someone dies, you lose more than a single individual. You leave wounds and scars on many others,” he retorted, his tone perhaps coming out a bit harsher. So much for keeping things calm between them, but the other had brought out a subject that he had carefully hidden in the back of his mind on purpose, knowing that it would have degenerated the discussion.

His eyes had to be burning with repressed emotions, because he could have sworn that the entity had winced at his words. Q hadn’t known at the time, he had had no idea of what it felt like to be responsible for someone’s death and to miss someone, knowing that they were _unreachable_, for the mere reason that they didn’t exist anymore in your world and that there was no bringing them back, no matter how much technology or power you had. He hadn’t known then, but _now_ he did. He had _literally_ had the blood of his own kind on his hands, he had found himself forced to witness death and misery and to mourn, just as the mortal species he had so often toyed with did. There was just one small, _immense_ difference, one that lingered, unsaid, in the tension that was growing between them. Moreover, Q would have been forced to carry the burden of it all for the rest of _eternity_, had he survived the rebellion he had chosen to start. A burden as vast as his existence. The mere thought made Picard’s skin crawl, because it seemed a punishment too cruel for anyone, but it still didn’t stop him from carrying on his speech. Even if he might be sticking his fingers in an already bleeding wound, there was something he _had_ to know.

“I won’t deny that your move brought us a _vital_ advantage. And I’m aware that, without it, we might have been assimilated. Or ended up like Guinan’s people, scattered through the universe, without a place to call home,” he conceded, even if his tone was anything but pacifying. On the contrary, it had cost him a lot to get those words out, because of the turn the conversation had taken. Under other circumstances, it might have been easier to admit Q’s merits, but with _that_ ghost haunting the back of his mind, reviving his own, never truly healed guilt, it was hard to offer forgiveness, especially when the being indirectly responsible for all that horror seemed to feel no regret at all. “But I disapprove of the _methods_. More than I normally do. And not just for those eighteen deaths. But for the eleven thousands who have followed. Did you know that they would have happened? Did you know that _he_…that…”

He raised a hand to his face, unable to bring himself to finish the sentence, no matter how hard he struggled against the words that wouldn’t come out. It was just a _name_, at the end of the day, but those three syllables tasted so deeply like blood, brought back the memory of so many screams and of so much _agony _that they were unbearable for him. He had forced himself to move on, to learn to live with that painful awareness, and he had succeeded, for the most. There were days when what happened didn’t even touch his mind now. However, that didn’t make it less heavy, every time he fatefully went back and dwelt on it.

“I knew that a conflict with the Borg would have brought casualties for your Federation. _Many_ of them. It was unavoidable considering whom you were fighting. But I _never_ intended for Locutus to happen, Jean-Luc,” Q replied with force, his voice loud enough that for a long moment it echoed in the empty space around them. His eyes had grown wide again, for emphasis this time, as they stared back at the human. “I’m omniscient in the sense that I can know everything that has happened till now and that it’s happening in this very moment, everywhere in the universe, if I choose to. I’m omniscient in the sense that time isn’t linear for me and that past and present are my backyard if I want them to be, in the same moment. I’m omniscient because I can take a _very_ good guess regarding the main events of history even if they haven’t occurred yet. However, I have no way to predict exactly where one choice made by one single individual will lead. Changes in the major course of history are _easy_ to guess, but the details…They evade even the Q.” He glanced away. “I hadn’t anticipated that the Borg would have taken such a personal interest in you. Even if…perhaps I should have expected it. After all, I do have good taste when it comes to people and the like. I wasn’t expecting them to do too. And when I realised…it was too late.”

Jean-Luc’s mind took a moment to register the half joke with which the entity had concluded his speech. His mind had stopped when Q had openly admitted that he hadn’t meant for things to happen the way they had. Even the following revelation that his omniscience wasn’t what he had allowed them to believe, as _unsettling_ as it was, remained somewhat overshadowed by that first confession, which basically was the closest thing to a heartfelt apology he could ever get out of that far too proud being. Deep down, he had never blamed the entity for that particular turn, but he had always thought of it as connected with everything that had preceded it. Hearing the pained tone with which that admission of _weakness_, because that was what it had been, was coaxing him into reconsidering, even if it might have made it all more complicated.

“Too late for you to do something about it?” He asked in a less hostile tone, even if he already knew the answer. One of the very few things he had grasped about the Continuum was that they had very strict rules when it came to interfering with the main development of other species. It wasn’t unlike Starfleet’s Prime Directive, even if they didn’t seem too concern to let others know that they existed. They merely refused to help out, preferring to prepare a whole set of trials to determine if a species was worth of their attention or not. It was easy to picture that they had decided that the invasion could be yet another of those tests that humanity could have either passed or not. And in case of failure, nothing would have really changed for them. For any of them aside from the being that was currently sat next to him. The one who had broken the rules so many times already, for his personal amusement but also to offer help when he should have not, the one who was now putting his eternal existence on the line to change that very same mentality that had been set in stone for _billions_ of years.

The Captain’s shoulders relaxed abruptly as that awareness settled in. If it had been up to Q, he would probably have stepped in far more often than he had. He would have offered his assistance over and over again, the Continuum’s policies be damned, and he would have delivered it, if they…if _Picard_ hadn’t kept rejecting it. Hell, before shoving them in the Borg’s clutches, he had even stated that he was ready to give his powers up to be a part of the team. Considering how his experience as a human had gone and how _shaken_ by the reality of death he was now, that offer meant much more than the Captain had realised at the time.

“And, Q, no need to flatter me or yourself. We all know that your tastes are _awful_.” The words were out of his mouth before he could realise it, a wave of levity that left them both stunned for a moment, before he caught the entity’s eyes lighting up brightly, with amusement and perhaps just a bit of slyness. The tension that had fallen on them was abruptly lifted, leaving new space for the conversation to continue without risking crossing dangerous lines.

“Look at who’s speaking. Your race lost every sense of taste and fashion _centuries_ ago,” Q retorted, raising his chin, in a fake show of offence. “You have no right to judge me.”

Jean-Luc shot him an unimpressed look. “That might be true for you, but that doesn’t make it true for everyone else. And I find myself with the right to remind you that _you_, in all your omniscience and proclaimed superiority, are the one who keeps coming back to this inferior being with no sense of taste.”

The sight of the entity opening his mouth, only to close it again because he was at loss of words, even if just temporarily, brought him a wave of satisfaction so strong that he was left tingling with the feeling once it had washed over him completely. In that moment it would have been _impossible_ for him to say that he wouldn’t have missed their banter, if he had never had a chance to engage in it again. It was true that Q got on his nerves as no one else in the universe could, that he was extremely dangerous also because he knew too well which buttons to hit, but that risk and bearing the burning of the rage, at the end of the day, were worth the few times he managed to outsmart the entity on his own ground. In those occasions, he not only proved the value of his species, but he also took away a piece of the façade that the other had built around himself, he also took a step forward towards understanding that odd, obnoxious, but utterly fascinating being who kept willingly falling into his life.

“_Touché_, mon capitaine,” Q conceded, clearly not liking the idea of having been outspoken by a mere mortal. His mouth, though, was curled in a frown that was more similar to a pout than to a real enraged expression and his eyes were still sparkling, amusement and interest lighting up those dark orbs. He was letting Picard savouring his victory and that was more than one could usually expect from him.

It didn’t last, though, because soon enough the entity’s expression then sobered up again, his voice turning deadly serious. “But desperate times demands desperate measures, and that’s what I’m doing here is. We’ve come so far to create weapons that can harm and _kill_ a Q. It’s nonsense, if you think about it, since we started this war over a death that shouldn’t have happened. No one seems to want to realise it, though, and…The truth is that the conflict is nowhere near to be over, even if so many of us have already perished. My faction depends on me, they expect _me_ to know what to do and how to do it when I…I don’t. I feel like we’re heading for total annihilation. This war got out of hand the same moment when it began.” He looked down at his hands. “Even if we win, even if everyone will decide that I am right…It will be a while before I’ll be able to look at myself and not see their blood. I needed somewhere to go, somewhere I could unload all _this_, a…safe place. And I couldn’t think of anywhere else aside from _here_. I didn’t lie on that. I couldn’t allow anyone else to see me like this and especially I couldn’t trust anyone else to understand, to _accept_ me.”

It was Jean-Luc’s turn to be speechless. Q had come to request his assistance, his _compassion_ as he had called it, once already, not hiding his acquired helplessness, but even then, with no omnipotence left, he had sounded demanding, cocky, as if it hadn’t been them doing him a favour but the other way around. Right now, instead, even if he still had all his powers, there was no hint of arrogance in his voice. On the contrary, a plea echoed in those words, a trace of the same vulnerability he had thought to have heard in the other’s tone once already, and this time there was no denying what it truly was. It felt like most of the barriers that had divided them till that moment had fallen, leaving them on the same level. The entity was still unreachable, still out of the grasp of his comprehension, but he had willingly lowered himself to his same plan of reality to seek something he was convinced only Picard could have given him.

The Captain remained quiet for a long moment, stunned by the gravity of the situation. The realisation of how much power he had over Q in that moment was slowly sinking in. It was as if the tables had been turned, again, and he had been given all the tools to _crush_ the being in front of him. Rejection, a few well-placed words, and the entity would have shattered into pieces. And, this time, it would have taken more than a few slaps to bring him back to himself. Hell, what he chose to do with Q now might have determined how the Continuum’s war would have ended.

He slowly reached out to toy with the hem of his uniform, fingers brushing the studs that symbolised his rank, as a reminder of what he was. A Starfleet Captain, a man with certain, chosen principles. Having a life in his hand, _that_ life in particular, was appealing and terrifying at the same time and he needed something to _ground_ himself. His head spun at the idea that he could have got back at Q for everything he and his species had done to him and his people, if he had wished to. It was the same reason why he had always refused the entity’s offers. No man should have that kind of power at their disposal. They were fated to _abuse_ it, even if he would have liked to think that he was a person decent enough to be above that. But that kind of temptation was like a siren’s song. It could make the most solid morals crumble as easily as the thinnest glass.

“Q,” he found himself hurrying to say, wanting to escape those dark, alluring thoughts. Instinctively, his hand found the entity’s shoulder and, for a moment, he thought to have made the wrong move because the other tensed, his whole body going rigid. However, it lasted only a moment, and then the muscles under his fingers relaxed again, in a silent acceptance of his touch. “There’s a reason why the Q in your faction look up at you in that sense and…I might be too limited to understand your ways and your reality, but I have…unfortunately for me and my crew,” the briefest hint of smile touched his lips, “seen what you can do in ours. I’ve never met anyone as skilled as you are at bending rules, of any kind. You’re awfully _imaginative_, even if that doesn’t make up for your horrible tastes, and, if I must be honest, I might have a bit of admiration for how _daring_ you can. Even if it gets on my nerves too.”

Q was looking at him with eyes so wide that it had to hurt, incredulity and what looked awfully like hopeful delight in his gaze, and Jean-Luc was having a very hard time keeping eye contact. It felt out of place, almost wrong. No almost omnipotent, god-like being should have looked at a mere finite creature as the entity was looking at him now, as if he had been holding all the power and the secrets he lacked to get out of the painful, potentially deadly situation he had found himself stuck in. He had no doubt that the other would have been ready to offer him _everything_ that had been, was and would be in exchange of a few more words. He could easily imagine it, Q turning the whole universe in a snow globe so that he could have put it on the desk of his office. Yet another alluring and frightening prospect.

His grip on Q’s shoulder tightened slightly, as he swallowed and forced himself to continue. “What I’m trying to say is…If someone can figure this whole mess out, it’s _you_. Find some weird, impossible idea that can end this and it will work out just because it’s too inconceivable not to. You’ve gone around the Continuum’s laws and behind their backs plenty of times. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to do it again.”

The entity was silent for a few minutes, too busy digesting the words he had been addressed to be able to only _think_ about finding a proper reply. And, moreover, he wasn’t even sure that there was one that didn’t imply him lowering his guard more than he had already done. When he had decided to reach out for the man’s mind, despite the risks and the dangers for them both, he had planned to have some fun, unload some tension, perhaps have some small talk while enjoying a break from the war. He should have really expected that he wouldn’t have been able to stick to just _that_. This was Jean-Luc Picard he was dealing with after all. He should have known that the human would have tried to get to the bottom of it all. And maybe he had known, had _longed_ for it, had wished to have a chance to force the Captain to mingle with his existence, just as he had so many times mingled with the man’s life. What he would have never anticipated, though, was that he would have received more than passive, resigned acceptance. It sparked up hopes that he had never dared to consider.

“I never thought that I’d see the day when _I_ would have been the receiver of one of your pep talks,” he ended up saying, allowing a hint of laughter in his voice to hide all the other, much deeper emotions he was experiencing. He brought a hand of his chest, the theatrics of the gesture echoing his dramatic tone. “I’m _touched_, Jean-Luc! You _do_ care then! And now I see why people come to you to be reassured and why women fall at your feet so easily. You really know how to make someone feel _special_.” The shadow of smirk stretched on his lips. “Had I known that you were so open in your head, I would have come to visit you in here much earlier.”

Picard made a show of rolling his eyes, dropping his hand from where it had been still resting on the other’s shoulder. Leave it to Q to make a _joke_ out of the most serious situations. However, deep down, he was glad for the new shift in the mood. This was more familiar, it was something he could handle without being given the power to make choices that went beyond his rights. Moreover, having the entity acting as his usual self had to mean that his words had struck the right chords.

“Glad to see that I somehow managed to inflate your massive ego once again,” he talked back, crossing his arms on his chest. “I should give myself more credit. Considering how _vast_ it is, I would have expected to have to make a bigger effort to get it back on its feet. Or perhaps you’re even easier to flatter than I had thought.” He scoffed slightly. “And lying while we literally are inside my mind wouldn’t be a smart move, don’t you think? You’d instantly know.”

The entity waved a finger, his amusement seemingly untouched by the provocation he had been thrown. “I am not reading your thoughts, Picard. I haven’t since Farpoint. It’s much more fun not to cheat in that way.” He unfurled from his closed off stance, stretching his legs before him and leaning on his arms, head tilted backwards so he could look at the void above them. “And…You’re right. I do have a weird, impossible idea on how to settle this conflict before it destroys us all. It’s…a bit of a hazard, though.”

The Captain raised an eyebrow. “Starting this whole conflict was a hazard in the first place, Q. If there’s just one remote possibility that it might work, you should go for it. It’s better than the alternative, from what I gathered.”

Q’s lips curled, his expression becoming unreadable for a moment. “That’s exactly what I’ve been telling myself. And…I guess it means that your species has been rubbing off me more than I realised.” He shot the man a side glance and his eyes lit up again, the amused look coming back and replacing the contemplative one that had briefly touched his face. “Do you think I should be concerned?”

“You make a _terrible_ human,” Jean-Luc declared, finding himself grinning slightly in return. “But that doesn’t mean that a slightly more human behaviour can’t benefit you as a Q. Your people don’t seem to understand us “inferior species” as well as they like to think. And you yourself admitted that you can’t predict the actions of a single individual. That’s what I’d call a tactical advantage.”

His curiosity was raising, his mind speculating on whatever odd trick the entity might have chosen to pull to gain the upper hand, without finding any answer. The possibilities were innumerable and Q was as unpredictable as the most chaotic kind of space anomaly could be. He could have asked, but he had the feeling that he wouldn’t have got an answer. He had no other choice but to wait for the end of the war for his desire to know to be satiated.

“Is it…anything I can help with?” He still dared to inquire, caution touching his voice once again. “You came here and I’m already involved, after all. It would make sense for me to offer my assistance. I still feel I owe you for how things went during your last trial.”

He had no reason to fear a bad reaction from the other, and yet there was something inside him that warned him of the obscure risks of asking such a thing. And the look that Q gave him immediately after, turning his head fully this time to be able to face him, proved that his instinct had been right. There was a deep, strong feeling in those dark eyes, ancient and yet as uncertain as only newborn things can be. An emotion that was extremely akin to _longing_ and that left him paralysed and exposed under its intensity. He quickly found himself torn between the need to run away, to put some distance between him and the magnetic pull of everything that lay under Q’s fake human form, and the urge to reach out and allow himself to be pulled in completely.

“Oh, I _wish_ you could, mon capitaine. I truly do,” the entity spoke, after just a moment of silence, his voice conveying real regret. “It would be the most _fitting_. However, as we both said, this hazard might be the _only_ chance I have to put an end to the conflict. And you’d be a too predictable ally. I can’t risk them guessing my intentions, not until I have secured them. If I came to you, they would instantly know. But I already have an alternative, even if it’s less ideal. They shouldn’t be able to see _that_ coming. And that’s the same reason why I won’t come back again after tonight, not until the war is over. I’ve indulged in my little getaway for too long. It’s absurd that no one but Amanda has figured out where I go when I disappear. You’d think they knew by now, with all the constant _complaining_ on me never shutting up about you they have done in the last few years.” He straightened his back, sitting up more properly, his expression turning solemn. “But do not fret, Jean-Luc. If I survive this, I _will_ be back to you in no time. Q’s word of honour.”

“I wonder if you even have an honour,” Picard deadpanned, ignoring the fake little gasp his comment gained from the other. Q’s dramatic show had brought back the familiar exasperation he always felt whenever he was forced to deal with the entity’s exaggerated antics. Deep down, however, under a layer of lingering, even if amused, irritation there was also a steady worry. They were speaking about what-ifs and hypotheticals, sidestepping the obvious fact that, had whatever strategy Q had in mind failed, they most likely would have _never_ seen each other again. The idea that the volatile, unique creature in front of him could just cease to exist was something that his mind didn’t wish to contemplate. Too many inconvenient implications.

“But I’m inclined to believe you,” he resumed, a bit desperate not to dwell on what might have happened if things hadn’t turned in their favour. “You’re such a huge pain in the back of the universe that it surely takes more than a war for us to be rid of…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence, the words getting stuck in his throat, because suddenly Q was all the way in his personal space, face just mere inches from his own, eyes glowing with purposeful intent. The Captain went very still, not really knowing what to expect. Usually the entity acted like that when he was trying to make him uncomfortable and the closeness normally resulted in the other whispering some provocation in his ear before he moved away with a satisfied smirk. However, in that moment, he doubted that it would have just been that. There was something almost predatory _and_ desperate in those dark globes, the same kind of pull that made him want to both run and move closer. If only he could have known what…

The train of his thoughts was abruptly cut short, just as his words had been, as the entity’s hands landed at the sides of his face, holding him in place as he had done in the previous dream. The grip, however, while tight, wasn’t painful at all this time, and Jean-Luc wasn’t given the time to finish making a comparison between the two situations because a moment later Q was _kissing_ him, hard and frantic, like a drowning man lacing on the last gulp of oxygen he was allowed to have.

The binary stars exploded in the background, their lights blinding him and forcing him to shut his eyes. It would have been hard to tell who was responsible for it and in that moment Picard’s mind was too busy trying to make sense of what was happening to care. It was just the landscape of a dream, after all, so no one would have suffered the consequences. What was real, instead, was the feeling of those oddly soft, hungry lips against his own, the grasp of those hands that could have shattered him with the mere brush of a finger. Beyond the physical, anticipated sensation there was another, not unlike the one he had experienced while touching the entity’s blood. Electricity running on his skin, making his insides tingle, but instead of being cool this time it reflected the heat of the contact they were sharing. And the taste was…There weren’t words for it, but if he had been asked to describe it, he would have claimed that it was the same flavour starlight would have, had a human been able to taste it.

Eventually, after a minute or a millennium, Q broke away, his thumbs rubbing the skin of the Captain’s jaw before he dropped his hands completely. His eyes were still shining with a hint of mischief, but there was a much softer, much warmer look in them too. “For luck,” he spoke, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Isn’t there a human tradition that says so? A very _charming_ one, if you ask me.”

Jean-Luc found that he was at loss of words once again, too stunned to even register that their setting had changed and that they were standing in the void once again. He was still processing, or trying to process, the kiss and its too many possible meanings and consequences. All potential developments that would have had to wait for Q to survive his impossible war to be explored and understood. Saying that it was infuriating was the understatement of the century.

“This is goodbye, mon capitaine,” Q was saying, very aware of everything that was rushing in the human’s mind. Normally he would have jumped on the chance to spread even more confusion, to drop even more innuendos, but there wasn’t any time left. There would have been later, if he had managed to keep his word and come back. His form slowly started to dissipate, the borders fading into the nothingness that surrounded them. “At least for now.”

Picard’s eyes widened, as his brain finally caught up with the fact that this was the last time they would have seen each other for a while, if not for ever. His hand shot up, finding the entity’s, fingers clutching it, even if it was already feeling far less concrete than it should have. Still the fading seemed to stop, at least for the moment, a silent permission for him to speak.

“Q,” he breathed out, not knowing where to start. There were so many things he wished he could say, but no words to shape them. He wasn’t ready to speak them and he knew it, and perhaps the being in front of him wasn’t ready to hear them either. “Just…come back. And when you do, _please_, try not to wreak havoc on my ship and in the space surrounding us just because you wish to _surprise_ me.”

At that, Q threw his head back and burst into laughter, a _real_ laugh, rich and musical, so very unlike the empty, creepy sounds he had produced during some of the previous nightmares. His fingers squeezed the human’s in a way that was almost _gentle_. “I make no promises, Jean-Luc,” he claimed with sly amusement, as his form started to dissipate again, eyes becoming brighter and brighter, the patterns of thousands of galaxies appearing under his skin. “You said it yourself. I’m next kin to chaos. And, besides, I must make you instantly understand that it’s _me_.”

*********

There was no abrupt awakening this time. No horrific death, no reality collapsing over his head, no rush of uncontrollable emotions following him into the real world. Jean-Luc simply blinked awake, his brain taking a few moments to realise that the dream was over and that he was back in his quarters, in his bed, safe and sound. And with the prospect of having no more visions waiting ahead of him. The latter realisation left him a feeling of loss and a deep uncertainty on what he was supposed to do about it. The obvious answer, as simple as it was, didn’t satisfy him at all. There was _nothing _he could have done about it, if not carrying on with his life and waiting for Q to show up in the flesh, if such an expression could be used to describe the entity’s human form.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips and he untangled himself from the sheets, not even bothering to check the time. It was early, not too much but hopefully enough to allow him to have a walk around the ship before his shift started. He needed to reacquaint himself with the Enterprise, with his life and reality, so that he could elaborate and get over the absurdity of everything that had happened, that night and in the previous weeks. His fingers itched to reach out and brush his lips, but that desperate, _crazy _kiss was hardly the thing he wanted to start from.

The minutes that took him to get ready for the day seemed endless, but he instantly felt better once he was clothed in his uniform. Q would have found it _laughable _for sure, but for him it symbolised a lot of the kind of person he had worked hard to become. It was a first step towards putting some order in his thoughts, in his priorities. And it also was a bit of a shield that helped him facing the reality that was put in front of him every day, in its ever-changing shapes. That last bit, perhaps, the entity would have understood. All considered, it wasn’t so unlike the acts Q loved so much to put on for the world to see, even if the entity would have denied it.

The corridors were almost deserted, since Gamma shift counted a restricted number of crewmen, and his steps eventually led him to Ten Forward. The room was basically empty too, aside from a couple of junior officers draining their last dose of caffeine and Deanna Troi, seated in a corner with a PADD and a cup of what he was ready to bet was hot chocolate, her table set right next to one of the large windows. The light of the stars made her skin look even fairer than it usually was and, once again, he had the unshakable feeling that she _knew_. How much, he couldn’t tell, but her being there couldn’t be just another coincidence.

“Counsellor,” he greeted once he had approached her, stopping in front of her table. “Do you mind if I join you? You’re up early this morning.”

“I could say the same about you, Captain,” she pointed out, gesturing him to take a seat. Her lips curled in a small smile. Nothing in her body language showed the slightest surprise at his sudden appearance. It was _almost _as if she had been waiting for him. “So, interesting night?”

Picard eyed her almost suspiciously, eyes narrowing slightly as he sat down in the chair in front of her. “You could say that. Our…ah, _issue_ seems to be solved, at least for now. Q told me a very intriguing even if definitely disconcerting tale. And we had quite the conversation after that too.” He joined his fingers in front of him and his gaze dropped for a moment. “I’m still having a hard time believing that these interactions of mine involved _him_, of all people.” He looked up again, studying the woman’s face. “But you know all this already, don’t you?”

“Bits and pieces,” Deanna admitted, lifting her cup and taking a small sip. “Q _might_ have stopped by in my dreamscape too last night, after leaving yours. He didn’t say much, just that you two had solved the knot of the problem and that I wouldn’t have to worry about him destroying your mind anymore. I tried to question him, but he left before I could, so I concluded that I’d have to ask you about it.”

“Figures,” Jean-Luc muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He was almost expecting her to press him to tell the crazy tale he had mentioned, but, when she remained quiet, he realised that she had to have grasped that it wasn’t the right moment. He felt grateful, for the umpteenth time, for her touch, intuition and discretion.

“What will do now, Captain?” Was the inquiry she posed instead, her eyes never leaving him.

“I don’t think there’s much I can do about i,” he confessed, as honest as he had been with himself not much earlier. “But I can assure you that I will be ready for when he’ll come back to pester us again. I will _not _let my crew be dragged in yet another absurd game.”

Troi looked a bit taken aback by the determination in his tone and the certainty with which he spoke those words surprised Picard himself too. There had been no ifs, no hesitation, even though, truth to be told, he couldn’t have known if and when the entity would have come back. Was it arrogance that was making him cling to the things he thought he knew, even if they weren’t a certainty? Or was it a desperate _hope_ that pushed him to deny the very much likely worst? It could have been either of them, or both, had the situation been different. However, in that case, he suddenly realised that he was simply _trusting_ Q to keep his promise, as illogical as it could be, especially considering that he had always been quick to state how the other couldn’t be trusted. Had so many things already evolved, in the space of a night? Had the words that had passed between them already set new foundations for a _change _in their relationship? Or at it been all the _contact,_ mental and physical, they had shared?

He turned his gaze out of the window, towards the stars. _Question_. Once again, he had been left with almost nothing but questions. However, this time he could have found an answer at least to some of those interrogatives on his own, once he had taken the time to sit down and examine them thoroughly. Q had told him once that exploring the universe should have been, in a sense, a way to explore his inner cosmos too and he had the feeling that he was starting to understand what that cryptic statement truly meant. His lips curved up slightly, as he let his eyes travelling among the faraway lights. Hopefully, by the time the entity had solved his own issues, he would have been able to prove to him once more how very much _capable _of learning and how much more _flexible _than he thought humans were.

Unbeknownst to him, the stars were staring right back, from another plan of reality, half amused and half thoughtful. Q could feel Amanda reaching out for him, most likely wanting to discuss their next move and that strategy he had claimed to have come up with. He would have left the child’s urgent curiosity unfulfilled for a moment longer, though. There were a few things he wanted to muse over first, details he needed to correct. Because that plan _had_ to work, and then the war would have been over. He wouldn’t have accepted anything even just slightly close to failure this time. No matter the cost.

A twirl of bright energy and he dragged his essence away from the universe, sinking back into the now broken reality of the Continuum. He could feel all its members mourning, the agony shared by both sides in equal manner. Deep and cutting and incomprehensible and yet not enough to put a stop to the conflict. As things were now, there weren’t the terms for a solution, for a change that could have been unanimously accepted. Not yet, but soon he would have procured them. That war had got even more personal now. Not only he craved, as them all, to put an end to those senseless atrocities. Not only he wanted to repay his debt to Quinn and honour his last act. Now he had one more reason to see that the conflict ended as _he_ wanted it to end. Some _very _important unfinished business with a certain Starfleet Captain. Affairs that, for the first time since the start of their rocky relationship, had the potential of leading to those well-hidden, deeply buried hopes he had never allowed himself to consider. Not until that fateful night that was about to reach its end.


End file.
